Hiding Place
by Underthenorthernlights
Summary: Sandor finds Sansa outside the Gates of the Moon and offers her a way out and his protection. This is a story of their journey together. It was written as a christmas exchange fill for demeter918 at the LJ community sansa sandor. There will be twelve chapters. Special thanks to littlebirdhound for her beta skills.
1. Chapter 1

**All characters belong to GRRM.**

Alayne stood in front of her window as she brushed her hair, smoothing out the abundant curls. She had just dyed it again last evening, hiding the rich auburn, leaving her hair a dull brown, and the unpleasant smell of it, though faint, still lingered. _'When will this persona end,' _she thought sadly, watching as the last of the snowflakes fell as she braided her hair to the side. Long icicles hung from every ledge, slowly dripping as the morning sun began to peek from behind the clouds, and Alayne smiled knowingly. On sunny days, she and Mya would escape the Gates of Moon for the day, accompanied by Ser Lothor Brune, to go riding.

_'Father...no, Petyr, would not like me leaving the safety of the gates, but he is not home yet and I do long for some freedom,' _she thought. _'Once he returns, he will not permit me to leave, no matter whom is by my side to keep watch.'_ She sighed wistfully, and quickly grabbed her warmest boots and laced them up before slipping on her dark green winter cloak. It was thick and warm, the inside lined in fine velvet. As she pulled the hood over her hair, she heard a gentle rap on her chamber door. She smiled and opened the heavy door.

Ser Lothor stood on the other side looking down at her, as a slight, but gentle smile lifted off his square jaw. He never spoke much, and he was loyal to Petyr, but Alayne had noticed that he had a soft spot for Mya, and would often try to hide a tiny smile whenever her name was mentioned.

Alayne never forgot what he had done for her the night Petyr and Aunt Lysa wed. _'Yes, he is loyal to Petyr. He would not let any physical harm come to me.' _She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened and the events that happened after.

The first time Mya had suggested they go for a ride, Ser Lothor had protested, gruffly, saying that Alayne was not to leave the castle walls, but in the end he had been persuaded by Mya's lusty blue eyes and accompanied them ever since. He did warn, however, that once the _Lord Protector _returned, they would not be going out again.

It was on their third excursion out, that they came across an old cabin near the river, and it had since become their regular destination. Mya had given Alayne a small dagger on one of the outings and she had taught her basic moves while Lothor watched on, brusquely offering advice on occasion.

Everything had changed the day Mya had, as a jape, taunted Lothor into a mock battle. They had eyed each other, Mya with a cocked eyebrow, Lothor with longing in his eyes. Soon the two of them had crashed into the cabin, while Mya called out from behind the closed doors to yell if danger was lurking, which in turn left her sitting alone. She had not minded. Alayne would, more often than not, sit beside the river on a weathered log, daydreaming, while Mya and Lothor had made use of the cabin.

She knew what they did in there, for Mya would tell her every detail; how she would take Lothor in her mouth, how he would sit her astride him and watch her ride, leaving Alayne red-faced as she listened to her story. Mya would just laugh mirthfully, and tell her that there were benefits to being a bastard, and maybe Alayne should not guard her maidenhood so carefully.

Alayne followed Ser Lothor to the stables where Mya had already had their horses saddled, and had a small bundle containing bread, cheese, cured sausage, some bitter olives, and a skin of arbour gold to wash it down. Since the winter had arrived, food was a luxury, and was meant to be rationed, however, Mya had always managed to find something in the kitchens to take along.

"Come along, Alayne, the horses are ready," Mya said as she mounted her own tawny mare with ease, giving her a nod in the direction of the handsome, young stable boy who stood ready to assist her. "Would you like some extra company today?" she asked slyly, a smirk on her face.

Alayne tried not to blush, knowing full well the indication Mya had in mind. _'She is terrible,'_ she thought as she walked to her pretty chestnut mare.

"No, Mya, I would like some quiet time today," she said. _'Gods, what a horrible excuse,' _she rued to herself, smiling brightly at the blushing stable boy as he helped her on her mare. "Thank you, kind Ser," she said, and then nudged her mare out of the stables.

The trio slowly made their way to the cabin, carefully steering their horses through the path they had previously made in the deep snow. The sun felt warm on Alayne's face and though the cold never bothered her much, she held on to the hope, false as it may be, that spring might be arriving soon.

They finally arrived, and Ser Lothor helped her off her horse, tying them to the tall tree beside the cabin. Mya gathered the bundle and they set off to sit by the frozen river where the warmer weather had thawed patches along the shoreline. Alayne helped arrange the blankets and sat primly on one corner while Mya sprawled out beside Ser Lothor. _'He looks so out of place sitting here,'_ and a image of someone from long ago passed through her mind. _'If he were here, I would be protected, but he would not sit here.' _She thought of his scarred face and twitching, mocking mouth. _'No, he would sneer and growl at me.'_

After all this time she still thought of the Hound. She wondered where he had gone when they parted ways, and if he was still alive. _'He hates liars. What would he think of me now, masquerading as Littlefinger's bastard?' _she mused. He would always come to her in her dreams, and of late he frequented them more. Alayne shook herself from her thoughts as Mya cut a thick slice of bread and hacked up the sausage and cheese, and watched as she stuck her thin dagger into a piece of cheese, then sausage, holding it toward her to take. _'She is so crude, she could be beautiful if she grew her hair long and wore a dress,'_ Alayne thought, as she gingerly took the meat and cheese off the tip of the dagger. She placed the small pieces on her bread and took a dainty bit, chewing slowly.

They did not converse much, and after a time Mya stood up and extended her hand to Ser Lothor, beckoning him silently with her blue eyes. He grasped her hand in his and slowly stood up towering over Alayne. His shadow covered her and he scanned the surrounding area. He looked down at her. "Stay here," he said gruffly, "and if you sense any danger, you call me. And remember your dagger, girl. Don't be afraid to use it." He then walked towards the cabin, dragging Mya behind him.

_'She is not struggling,'_ she mused.

Alayne sat quietly, lost in her thoughts. _'I wonder what it would be like to be so open like Mya. She thinks I am a bastard. I hope I play the role convincingly, but the lady is hidden for now. Oh mother, I miss you. Can you see me? Can you hear my thoughts? I miss you, and father. My brothers, too. Ayra if you hear me, I do love you and I wish you were here now.' _

She was pulled from her lonely thoughts as she heard a loud crash and muffled voices coming from inside the cabin. She frowned slightly, paying no mind to the nagging feeling that started growing inside her. _'Poor Lothor. Mya is probably wrestling him down.'_ She giggled and blushed at the image that flitted across her mind. _'I will hear all about it tonight.' _

Her thoughts turned to the conversation she had with Petyr before he left for the Eyrie. Since the weather had warmed, he had wanted to go and make preparations to return. He had told her of his plans for her, mayhap arranging a marriage to Harry the Heir. Alayne had yet to meet this Harry, and in her heart she truly did not want to, let alone marry him. She knew if she did, Sansa might be lost forever for she had no idea how all this could work. Her heart tightened, _'Sansa. I just want to be Sansa. I want to be loved as Sansa, not Alayne. Though, I doubt Petyr is intent on marrying me off just yet,' _she thought. _'Sometimes he acts the part of my father, I play along, but why must he kiss me? Sansa's father never kissed her like this. Yet, I am not Sansa anymore.' _Alayne swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly, holding back her tears.

_'I will be strong, I will survive and I will be Sansa Stark of Winterfell once again.'_

Suddenly, the door of the cabin flew open, startling her. She turned around quickly, and her heart felt as though it had stopped. She watched as a massive figure slowly stepped out from the cabin. A tattered black cloak covered his immense frame, and a equally tattered cowl covered his face. In his massive hand he wielded a two-handed sword.

_'The Stranger himself!' _

The man stared at her, and began slowly stalking towards her, a slight limp in his stride. _'No!' _She thought, her heart pounding.

Alayne quickly scrambled to her feet and ran, gathering her skirts with one hand, while reaching under her cloak for the concealed dagger with the other. She tried to run as fast as she could, but the snow was still deep and she did not make it very far. She struggled to pull herself over a twisted log, but her boot caught, and she tumbled head first into the snow. Desperately, she tried to get up and climb over the log, but her long skirts got tangled around her boots. She could hear the man stomping quickly toward her, the snow crunching under his heavy feet.

_'There is nowhere to go,'_ she thought as she panted, struggling to get up. Her mind raced, remembering that Mya and Lothor who were still in the cabin. _'They must be dead!'_ Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She tightened her grasp around the handle of her dagger. _'Please, gods, please let this just be a dream. Please, wake me up!'_ She felt the strong presence behind her, and could hear his breath, quick and ragged. She pulled herself over the log and clambered up, trying to run, only advancing several steps before strong hands grabbed her cloak jerking her to a stop. A heavy weight crashed on top of her and her movements were instantly stilled, she closed her eyes tightly, and tried to scream for help, but a large, rough hand covered her mouth, before she could, and she struggled with all her might to escape.

_'No, this must be a trick,'_ Alayne thought, as she tried to move from under the heavy weight that was pinning her face down into the cold snow. _'My dagger,' _she suddenly remembered and went limp, hoping that the tight grip around her mouth would lessen and she could turn around, _'Go for his throat.'_ She could hear the raspy breaths. _'Familiar,'_ she thought, 'but _it certainly would not be him, he would never be here, would he?' _

Alayne felt him rise up slightly off her, his knees on each side of her hips. He let go of her just long enough, giving her a chance to roll over and thrust the dagger towards him. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the dagger slice her attacker. The man just as quickly grabbed her wrist and squeezed until she had no choice but to let it go. He then pinned her arms above her head and she could feel his chest heaving over hers, his warm breath covering her face. She kept her eyes shut. She continued struggling, and tried to kick him, but again, her heavy cloak and skirts got in the way.

She slumped in defeat, almost breathless, and opened her eyes to begin pleading for her life. She slowly raised her eyes upward, noticing blood dripping down onto her dress. As her eyes went higher, they widened when she recognized the tight, grim ruined lips, the slick twisted mass of scars, and the tips of his lank black hair touching her face. Alayne gasped as she met his narrowed, grey eyes; a look of surprise in them. A small sense of relief washed over her, but left just as quickly as he spoke, the man's voice harsh and grated.

"The little bird has killed her _true knight_," he said, almost mockingly. Alayne watched as his eyes rolled back just before his body collapsed against her, his face buried into the crook of her neck.

_'Merciful gods! I've killed the Hound!'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning for some violence against women. **

**Special thanks to littlebirdhound for her beta skills.**

Sandor watched as the trio left the cabin area, knowing they would be back, and he could then put his plan to work. He had been watching their comings and goings for several days, and had decided that tomorrow would be the day to make his move.

It unsettled him to see Sansa here. Since first hearing the news that Petyr Baelish had a bastard, Sandor, for some reason, could not shake the feeling that something was off about the story. Though he had no evidence, his suspicions grew once he had figured out the timeline of the little bird's disappearance, and the sudden news of Littlefinger's bastard daughter.

Looking back, he might have known all along. He felt sick when he had come to the conclusion that he left her in a desperate situation that led her to flee with him. _Littlefinger. Of all the fucking shite in King's Landing, it had to be him._

Sandor remembered the Elder Brother warning him not to go, that he should stay at the Quiet Isle where it would be safer. When the Elder Brother had said the gods would watch over Sansa, that's when Sandor cursed the damned gods who had put her in this situation in the first place.

He could not stay, and had told the Elder Brother, in a few words, that in no good conscience could he leave her there, and stand idly by. _Not anymore._ And not if he was given a chance to protect her and keep her somehow hidden away until they could come up with a plan.

In the end, Sandor eased the Elder Brother's doubts, and had agreed that if Lord Baelish's daughter was, indeed, the missing Stark girl, that she should be given the choice to stay put or leave with Sandor. "Do not take her by force, brother," Elder Brother had said, "If the girl is Sansa Stark, she would have, no doubt, been through many hardships and pain. She needs to know that she has a choice to go with you freely, and not to be yet another captive."

Sandor had nodded in agreement, bid farewell to the man who had helped him find some peace, and headed out to the Gates of the Moon.

When he arrived, Sandor had kept himself hidden away amongst the trees so he could observe the coming and goings of the inhabitants. For two days he watched, and on the third he saw three riders coming out from the gates, and by the way one of them was riding sidesaddle, and though she was covered by a hooded cloak, he knew it was the little bird. She had looked stiff and uncomfortable.

He left Stranger tied away from the main road and followed them from afar. Since they left deep prints in the snow, it had not been hard to keep track of them. The party then veered off and had followed a tree-lined trail. Sandor cursed under his breath the whole way as he struggled in the thigh-deep snow to find where they had gone. The path they had traveled looked as though they had been there the day before, with the snow packed down with a fresh,thin layer atop.

He continued to follow them to the end of the path, when he saw the party had come upon what looked to be an abandoned cabin. Sandor knew this was their spot by the familiar way the man, who he had recognized as Lothor Brune, had tied their horses beside the cabin and how the dark-haired woman in men's garb, laid out a blanket. He watched as they sat conversing, though it had mostly been the woman talking. Lothor, he saw lain on his side, watched them.

Sandor had noticed how Sansa, or Alayne, as he had heard them call her, was quiet, but her smile seemed genuine enough which made him think that perhaps she actually might be happy and safe. _I wont force you from here, little bird, _he had thought as he watched her, noticing how primly she sat on the blanket, _She has grown, not so little anymore._

He frowned when he had noticed Lothor and the woman rise and make their way to the cabin, leaving Sansa alone. He gripped his fists together tightly in anger. _Fucking fool. Leaving his post for some cunt. Anyone could come along and harm the bird. _ Sandor scowled deeply, and had watched as Sansa stood up and wandered over to a log and brushed off the snow. _So tall. _She sat with her back to the water and looked had around at her surroundings. _Good girl. At least you are being somewhat watchful. _From where he had been hiding, he was able to watch her plainly, and watch her, he did.

She had taken off her hood and the first thing he had noticed was the change in her hair. _Oh, little bird, what have you done?_ He thought as he remembered her rich auburn. He was drawn to her eyes as she looked around. Sandor had noticed that as she became more comfortable with her surroundings, that her face had changed. There was no smile anymore and her shoulders, which were poised straight, had slumped, and her eyes; dull and sad. He watched as she clasped her hands tightly on her lap and she looked, almost, to be praying. In the quiet, she closed her eyes tightly and had looked as if she was holding back tears. _Just a little bit longer, little bird. I will get you out of this place if it's the last thing I do._

Soon enough the '_lovebirds' _had come out of the cabin. Lothor went to the horses and got them ready, the woman had walked over to Sansa, and Sandor could not help but notice Sansa's face had turned bright red. _Almost like she is an innocent maid hearing about a good fuck for the first time, _Sandor had thought. _The Imp surely had his way with you. _He had ground his teeth together hard as he thought of the stubby fingers touching Sansa's delicate skin. He shook his head to rid the thought and then watched as they had left.

When he had been sure they had gone far enough ahead, he walked to the cabin and went inside and inspected the dismal shack. There had been one window that faced the small lake, and a gap in the back wall that he could use to leave the cabin. He could see the log where Sansa was sitting, and a perfect view of the path from there to the door. It was towards the back of the cabin even though it was a one room. There was no pallet nor furniture, just some old furs thrown on the floor. The fireplace was crumbling and was of no use, though he would not light a fire anyway least he would give himself away. Once satisfied he walked out and had left to fetch Stranger. He had not been worried about the horse being a give away. He had given Stranger the battle command for silence, and the horse, wild as sin, would always obey his master.

Sandor sat on the floor of the cabin that night, his back leaning against the wall and he thought over his plan for the next day. He knew he would have to take care of Lothor and his woman. He was not planning on killing them if he could help it. The way the little bird acted around them, he was sure she might harbour some kind of affection for them, and he knew that if he killed them, she would not be happy about it. _Best knock them out and leave them tied in a sleeping lovers' embrace, _he thought with a smirk. _That'll teach the Ser not to leave his charge and chase a release. Your master, the Lord Protector will surely deal with you, his loyal subject, for allowing his prize to be snatched out from under your nose._

Sandor looked to the wine skins he had filled just the day before, and the bundle of worn clothes he had stolen from a farm boy, and frowned. _There's no other way, I have to make it look real and horrible. The little bird will not like this at all. _He shook his head at the image that was sure to leave her shaking and disgusted. _There's no other way. It has to be done to keep her safe, _he convinced himself. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself to shield from the cold and fell into a troubled sleep.

The next morning, Sandor was up before the sun and he set his plan in place. He tied the wineskins to his sword belt and left the bundle of clothes beside Stranger. He was very careful not leave noticeable footprints, never stepping out the front door, but instead, would find his leave through the tight gap at the back of the cabin.

As the morning went by, Sandor sat patiently on the floor, resting, sharpening his long sword and daggers, and from time to time he slowly chewed on a piece of willow bark that would help dull the pain in his thigh. The pain would always be there, a small reminder of his past life. Not that he needed one. He went back in time with his thoughts and reminded himself why he was doing this.

He knew what he did to Sansa that night was wrong. He had cried to the wolf bitch, thinking he was going straight to the seven hells, and she had been right when she said that he did not deserve the gift of mercy. But after she fled, he had been given mercy by the Elder Brother and he had lived. The time that he lay in bed recovering had led him to countless hours alone with his thoughts; thoughts that he could not drown in the wine, of which he demanded repeatedly, but being too weak, he could not get up and fight for it. Those long days and nights he had tossed in a disturbed sleep. Green fire was everywhere, her voice trembling and afraid, singing those words over and over, then the look of sheer terror he saw in her eyes would wake him up in a burning sweat.

He knew he would never find peace from this until he found her and begged for her forgiveness. _Yet, could I beg? _He would question himself. He was not the same man as before, but yet a piece of that man still lived in him. Those dark demons would always be there, hiding and ready to break out when he needed them. _Could she forgive me? I don't think she could and I don't think that she should. _He told himself. He pulled his head from these thoughts as he heard horses coming closer. _The time has come._

Sandor quietly crept to the window and peered out. He saw the three coming towards the cabin and watched as Lothor tied the horses. He watched them as they sat and ate and he could not take his eyes off Sansa. _You sit like a lady, little bird, you're going to have learn to be a true, lowly bastard._

Finally, after some time, he saw the dark haired woman stand up and take Lothor's hand. Sandor slowly backed away from the window and hid in the dark shadows of the cabin under his black cloak. His sword was already drawn and he waited, to take them by surprise.

As expected, they burst through the door and slammed it behind them. Their breathing was heavy and he heard them bang up against a wall. He peeked out from behind his cloak and watched as Lothor lifted the woman up, her legs wrapping around his waist. _It's like she is starving, _Sandor thought as he watched. Suddenly, thoughts from his past washed over him as he watched them in their passion, and he could feel that familiar anger creep over him. Never had a woman kissed him with this much passion. He had been kissed, or more like forced a kiss, by a whore now and again, but there was no passion, just a mummer's smile and an extra coin for the whore's service.

He tightened his grip around his sword and bid his time. He watched as they ran their hands over each other, gripping hair, never stopping, just pulling each other closer, moaning into each other's mouths. Finally, he could not take it anymore. He stood up and as quick as a wink, he was behind Lothor, bringing up the heel of his sword handle and hitting the man hard on the back of the head. Lothor collapsed instantly with the woman crumpled on the floor beneath him. Sandor jerked Lothor's limp body off her and yanked the woman up. He did not like to hurt women, he was not his brother, but he had to protect the little bird. He shoved her roughly against the wall, and pinned both her arms with one hand as she tried to struggle, grunting when she kicked him hard in the leg. He dropped his longsword then, and pulled out his dagger, pointing it right to her throat.

Her eyes were wide open in fear, he saw. Sandor looked down at her and shook his head. "Not a word," he said in a deathly quiet and calm voice, "or you're dead. Understand?" She nodded, and Sandor used his weight to press her against the wall to keep her still. He sheathed his dagger and retrieved a strip of cloth from under his cloak, shoving it in her mouth. He looked over at Lothor, _Still out. Good,_ he thought. He pulled the struggling woman down to the floor beside Lothor and tied them together, face to face. _A real lovers embrace, _he smirked.

When he was done, he squatted next to the wench and looked her square in the eye. His face was covered by the black cowl so he was not worried that she would recognize his face. He had never seen the wench before but if she described it to her companion, Sandor had no doubt that Lothor would know, instantly, who he was.

Sandor spoke in a low voice, every word accentuated. "You both failed your charge, now I am going to leave you here, go out there, and kill her. It'll be a bloody mess," he sneered. "And when I am done with her, there'll be nothing left. And your master will be left to deal with the both of you, if anyone ever finds you, that is."

The woman's eyes were filled with a new, sheer terror, Sandor noticed. Whether it was for Sansa or for herself, he was uncertain. _Good, let her feel this fear. _He stood up then, and stepped out of the cabin.

_This bloody well better work._


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again to littlebirdhound for her beta skills**

**All Characters Belong To GRRM**

"What have I done?" Alayne whispered, as she struggled to get from under the Hound's heavy weight. He was indeed heavy and Alayne felt like she could not breath under him. His face was buried deep in the crook her neck and he was not moving. She pushed on his shoulders with all her strength and was finally able to roll him over onto his side. She sat up and peered down at his face.

_Gods, it's still terrible, and he smirks even in death, _she thought as she took in his mass of scars and the black stubble on his good cheek. His cloak was opened wide, and when she looked down to his chest, she gasped in horror, noticing the blood seeping through the worn, green tunic.

"No!" She cried, and reached over to push his tunic up over his chest, wincing when she spotted the jagged cut her dagger had made. Alayne took hold of the bottom tip of her cloak and tried to soak up the blood. Unknowingly, she started to cry, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

"Why did you have to scare me?" She cried. "Look what you made me do, you stupid man!"

Her eyes stung with tears, and in her sudden grief, she did not notice that Sandor had opened one eye, and was watching her with a look of concern, but also a slight hint of amusement.

When Alayne lifted the end of his cloak and looked at the gash, she realized something was not right. Yes, she had sliced him, but the wound, while bleeding heavily was not deep at all. Not enough to give a man, such as the Hound, instant death.

She pulled her hand away and looked at his face. It was then she noticed his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a mocking fit of laughter. Alayne scrambled back. She grabbed her dagger that was beside the Hound and held it up. Her genuine fear that she had killed him had vanished, and was replaced by something else; anger.

She glared at him as he opened his eyes to look at her. She noticed right away that the black hate she had always found there, was replaced by something else. _Calm, _she thought. She shook her head furiously. _No, this is not right. _She slowly backed away and watched him sit up. He looked as his chest and back at her.

"I see you've left your courteous, ladylike ways and have taken up a taste for killing, little bird," he said, his voice was raspy and hoarse as she remembered. He grinned at her angry expression and threw his head back to laugh, but stopped short and grunted in pain instead.

_You deserve to feel pain for what you just did to me, _she thought as she cautiously looked at him. She licked her lips nervously as she watched him inspect his wound and then looked away when he noticed her watching him. _Why is he here? _She mused trying to ignore his stare.

Finally, she looked at him. "Ser, what are you doing here?" She asked quietly.

"Don't you want a true knight to rescue you, little bird?" He asked, his lips twisting into a smile.

_True Knights, _she thought. "I am protected here. There is no one hurting me," she said. Then, as an afterthought, "Except you."

She watched as Sandor thought deeply. He dabbed the wound with his own tunic and the blood seemed to be slowing down. _He needs be stitched up,_ she thought as she looked at the parted skin. She started to feel bad about what she had done, but shook the thought away, remembering that _he_ had, in fact, chased her and pinned her to the ground.

"So, you're safe here? Seems that you're all alone right now with the likes of me. Your protectors, Sansa didn't do a good job…"

"Alayne," she interrupted. "My name is Alayne."

The Hound blinked several times. then snorted, shaking his head. "In fact, _Alayne,_ he said with a sneer, I could steal you away right now, even with this impressive little wound you gave me, they could not stop me," he stated bluntly.

_Mya! Lothor! Gods, I forgot!_

She looked at Sandor, panicked. "You killed them? They did nothing wrong to me nor to you, and you killed them," she said accusingly. Her eyes filled with tears again. "Because of me they are dead, how could you?" She sobbed. "They were my friends, they never hurt me. Ser Lothor even saved me once when you were not here." His mouth twitched at that, she noticed. She sank to her knees in the snow and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "How could you?"

As she cried, Alayne did not notice Sandor struggle to his feet and stand until she heard the snow crunching beneath his feet as he came toward her. She looked up at his towering height and moved away from him on her knees. "Stay away from me," she cried out and brandished the dagger towards him. Sandor eased to his knees in front of her, his blood stained tunic covering his chest and his cloak hanging on his side. Alayne shrank from him and turned her head away. She stilled when she felt his rough hand gently cup her chin to face him. _I cannot fight him, he is too strong, _she thought sadly in defeat.

She flicked her eyes up and looked into his, expecting to see rage or blood lust. Instead, again, she was struck with the look of calm that had seemed to settle there. She felt like she knew who he was, but at the same time she had no idea who he had become since King's Landing. She was at a loss for words from his gentle touch and his stare.

"First off, little bird, if they were truly your friends, they wouldn't have left you alone out here in the woods. Second, might be Lothor saved you, but know this: If I was by your side, I'd keep you safe. I told you that if anyone ever hurt you again, I'd kill them. Third, look at my sword, girl. There is no blood, the only blood is mine, on me, on you," he motioned to her dress that was now stained red. "And your dagger is the one covered in blood. I never killed them, little bird. Truth is, it was an easy fight, barely a fight at all. I knocked your hero out with the heel of my sword and trussed them up together in a loving embrace. They'll be fine. Might be they'll have some explaining to do to your... _father_." He sneered. "But if he does find them, we'll be long gone. If you wish to leave, that is."

Alayne stared at him in shock. "They are still alive?" She asked in a quiet voice. She looked at Sandor's sword, now laying on the crisp snow. Not a drop of blood was on it. _Of course. Why would he kill them? He knew if he did I would be angry with him._

"Yes, little bird, they're still breathing. Though, Lothor won't be feeling too well in the head when he wakes up. He went down like a lusting green boy." Sandor smirked. "His wench fought harder though."

"You did not hurt her, did you?" She asked, clenching her dagger tighter. It did not go unnoticed by Sandor.

"No, I didn't hurt her. Might be I was a little rough, and frightened her with my words, but she's fine," he rasped gently.

She looked up at him. "If I wish to leave, what makes you think I should go with you?" Alayne could not believe she was being so bold with him.

"You have not given me a reason to trust you. The last time I saw you, you held a dagger to my throat and forced a song from me."

She noticed he looked away when she mentioned that night of the green fire. He swallowed hard and she knew she needed to hear those words from him. She needed him to convince her that she could trust him. Alayne did not know who she could trust, especially when it came to men. They only seemed to want her for her claim to the north and were not shy about stating it; Joffrey with his threats and beatings, Tywin with the force of her marriage to the Imp, Littlefinger and his sly promises and minty kisses. Alayne knew none of these men cared for her. _Yes, Littlefinger has kept me safe. I have not been beaten, but sometimes lies can be worse._

She watched Sandor struggle to speak. _He does not seem weak, but a man like him could never speak apologies, could he?_

Sandor gazed at her with a look she had never believed a man, such as he, could have. _He looks remorseful, _she silently observed. She went rigid when he took her hand still holding the dagger, and raised it up to his throat. Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?" She asked, her voice suddenly shaking.

"Little bird, there is nothing I can do to take back what I did to you that night. I could throw myself at your feet and beg forgiveness, but what would that do? It'll never make it right. Never," he stated simply, his voice cracking slightly.

"I am ashamed and will always be for threatening you and scaring you. But I'm here now, and I swear to you that I'll never hurt you again. I'd do anything to keep you safe, and if one day I can get you home to where you belong, I will. I'm loyal to only you. No one else."

He pulled her hand closer to his throat; his huge hand wrapped around her delicate long fingers, and she could not help but notice how warm they felt. The tip of the dagger was jabbed deep against his skin.

"If you want, you can kill me now; take your anger and hurt out on me, I deserve it. And you can go untie your friends in the cabin and leave me here. I've nothing left in this world. I never had anything to begin with, and if it gives you comfort to have me leave this world and burn in the seven hells; then by your hand, I'd accept it."

Alayne stared into his clear, grey eyes. They hid nothing and told her everything. He was not lying to her, his words were true and she with her other hand, she lowered the dagger away from him.

"How do I know I can trust you? How can we escape? Littlefinger will have every man, woman, and child looking for me." She questioned as she tucked her dagger away back into the leather sheath. She looked at him, point blank, and asked him, "What if you decide to get drunk? What then? How can you keep me safe from _you_?"

She stared up at him, he still towered over her even though they were both kneeling in the snow. She finally, really looked at him as she waited for his answer. His scars were still hideously craggy but they did not seem so weepy and wet as she remembered. His lank hair did nothing to help hide them. She noticed that he had not shaved his good side for a long time and his hair seemed to curl and flow from his face to his thick neck and disappear under his ripped, blood stained tunic. She could not help but notice the occasional grey hair that stood out against the soot black. But it was his eyes that kept her attention, she remembered how they frightened her most of all. The black rage that used to peer down at her was no longer there. She could not get over the fact that time had, indeed, quieted the rage in his eyes. _But is the rage still in his heart? Can that ever be completely gone?_

"You don't know if you can trust me," he said after a moment, "Might be I have to prove that you can. I don't drink myself into a stupor anymore. I used to, not going to deny it, but now I feel that I don't need to. I can't begin to describe the torment that lived inside me, and still does at times. My brother is dead, it helps to know that he is burning in the hells where he belongs. But enough of this talk, what say you? Do you want to leave and be Sansa Stark of Winterfell, or stay and be the Cunt Sellers bastard? Can you _really_ put your trust in Littlefinger?" He shook his head. "It's your choice," Sandor said, his voice strong and sure. He stared down at her, a slight smile twisted his lips.

"I don't want to be a bastard anymore and I want to go home. And no I don't trust Littlefinger," she said quietly. "How is this going to work?"

She watched as a solemn look came over his face. He raised his hand and gently placed it on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "You must listen to everything I tell you to do. I won't make this sound pretty and a little bird such as yourself isn't going to like what needs to be done," he rasped cautiously. "But it might give you a chance to be lost for sometime and be forgotten until it's safe to return to Winterfell."

Alayne could feel herself getting nervous. "What are you going to do?" She asked, her voice trembling in hesitation. Her eyes grew wide with fear when she heard:

_"You're going to help me kill Alayne Stone."_


	4. Chapter 4

Special thanks to my beta littlebirdhound

All characters belong to GRRM

Sandor looked down at her shocked expression. _Good job, old dog, you just scared the little bird. _He knew this was not going to be easy, but in end it just might work. He gave Sansa's shoulder a squeeze and stood up, reaching to take her hand to pull her up. He noticed, again, that she was very tall, her head almost reaching his shoulder. It was very rare to see a woman of this height. He liked it, though he would not admit it.

He looked down at her. "Your sure that this is what you want," he rasped, "It's not too late to change your mind."

He watched Sansa swallow hard and nod her head. "I am not going to change my mind. I want to go home. You will take me home, won't you?" She asked as she raised her eyes to his.

Sandor looked into her blue eyes, they seemed to have some sort of hope in them. "I'll do my best, but it won't be easy. Understand? You're going to have do some things that a lady such as yourself won't be privy to, but if you follow my lead you'll be safe enough."

Sandor watched her think over his words, brushing the snow off her dress and cloak. He shook his head at her.

"No sense in cleaning yourself up. Just going to get dirty anyway. Might be you should just take off the dress, you're not going to need it after I'm done." He chuckled when she gasped at him and clutched her cloak around her tightly.

"That is an improper request to ask a lady," she whispered, her eyes darting away from him.

"Look, I need something to clean this wolf bite you gave me," he rasped impatiently, gesturing to the gash on his chest. "The more blood I get on your clothes, the better. And I need to wrap it tight before we go any further," he added as he looked down at his tunic. "Come on, little bird, give me that pretty dress you have on." He turned around so as to give her some privacy and waited. He knew she was staring at his back in disbelief. _We're just getting started. _He heard her rustling around behind him, as she struggled to pull off her heavy dress while under the cloak.

"Here," she simply stated.

Sandor turned around and saw she was standing rigid, holding her cloak tightly closed. She outstretched her arm towards him, her blue dress in her hand. He grasped it and pulled it away from her tight clutch. The smooth blue material was soft and delicate; a contrast to the roughness of his hands, the threads catching on his callouses. He stared at it briefly, then looked at her. She had her head held high and her jaw clenched. _She has a spine. Always knew she did. _

With his dagger, Sandor sliced the dress in half and handed both pieces to Sansa before unclasping his cloak and laying it over the log. He took off his tunic, grimacing at the sting as he pulled at the material that clung to the wound. He knew it was going to be a hindrance. It was in an awkward spot and even with the slightest movement, he could feel it stretch and tear a little more. He knew it was going to need stitching. _No time right now, it'll have to wait 'til nightfall._

He went to hand Sansa his tunic, but stopped short when he noticed her staring intently at his exposed chest. He smiled smugly, and as he reached his arm toward her, he purposely flexed his shoulders, ignoring the pain and watched her reaction. Might be his face was a maid's worse nightmare, but he knew that under their tunics, most men did not have what he had. The look she gave did not escape him and he could not stop the bark of laughter that startled her out of her gaze.

"Admiring your handiwork, girl? Think I'll keep this one as my favourite," he rasped, pointing to the open wound.

He noticed a flush come over her cheeks. _Blushing like a maid. She can't compare this to her little husband. _Sandor kept his thoughts to himself and took half of the dress, carefully wiping the blood from his chest before he bent down, scooped up a handful of snow and smoothed it over his skin.

"Bloody hells, that's cold," he swore as he rubbed it into his skin to wash off the blood. The heat from his chest melted the snow and made cleaning easier. The ripped dress was now soaked with his blood, turning the light blue into a shade of night. _Good; the more blood, the better, _he thought, and threw the stained piece down onto the snow.

He snatched the other half from Sansa's hand, and brought the material up to his ruined lips, gripping the edge with his teeth and tearing the rest into several strips. He handed them to Sansa and began wrapping a strip around his chest. He struggled as he tried to reach his arms around his back, but the movement caused him to wince as the jagged cut was pulled slightly more open. He glanced at Sansa. _She's going to have to help._

"Little bird, since you did this, its only fair that you help this old dog out and bandage me up," he snapped roughly, frustrated that he wasn't able to take care of himself. "Come here and help me, girl. And be quick about it, we don't have time to be standing here. The sooner we get this done, the faster we can get away from this bloody place."

Sansa walked towards him, and he noticed that she was slightly hesitant and nervous. "I won't bite you, girl. Might be I'd take a nibble here and there if I'm tempted enough, but don't worry; I don't want to scare you off,' he said with a growly voice.

Sansa stepped behind him and grabbed the ends of the cloth strips, tying them in a secure knot. As she busied herself with her task, Sandor could feel the light brush of her fingertips on his back. He wrapped another around himself, and his hands briefly lingered on hers as she took the ends and tied another knot. He stilled, and could feel the warmth of her breath upon his back as Sansa tucked the ends into the layers wrapped around him. He felt a strange sensation creep up his back and over his shoulders, causing him to tremble. Suddenly, her hand went to his arm and touched the scarred flesh. He tensed, and turned around, quickly jerking his arm away. Sansa shrank back a bit, but then looked at him questioningly as if she wanted him to tell her where he got the burn from. Sandor gritted his teeth together and shook his head. _There will be time soon enough to swap tales, _he thought grimly.

Sansa stared at him briefly and shook her head, handing him his tunic that she had tucked under her arm, and turned around. Sandor frowned at her back and slipped his tunic on. He reached to his sword belt and untied the two wineskins that hung off his hip. He grasped Sansa's shoulder lightly and turned her towards him, handing her a skin.

"I am not thirsty, ser, and this is no time for you to start drinking," she said coldly as she took the skin from him. "You said yourself we have to move quickly."

Sandor peered down at her and shook his head.

"Might be I'd like a nice little drink now, but what's in here is not what I thirst for." He pulled the cork from the skin that was in his hand and poured a few drops into the snow, "And I am no ser." The pure white started to turn a dark ominous red. Sandor grunted when he heard Sansa gasp.

"Blood?" she questioned. "Where did you get it from," she added in a tone like she might not want to know the answer.

Sandor chuckled darkly. "I had to eat, so I hunted down a deer. Hung it up in a tree and let the blood trickle out. Thought it might come in use for my plan, so I filled them. And I have the hind quarters slung over Stranger. I'll use them too."

"What is your plan exactly?" Sansa questioned nervously as she looked at the wine skin in her hand.

"I'm going to get Stranger and some different clothes for you to wear. You looked too highborn to be posing as bastard in that dress." He gestured to her peice of ruined gown on the ground. He touched the blue material that was wrapped around his chest. "I am going to make you look as common as the poor lad that the clothes came from." He laughed, looking at her scandalous look. He paused, remembering the family who let him sleep in their stables in exchange for a few coins. They were just over a half days ride away. _If we hurry up, we can get there after nightfall. They seemed indifferent to my face and for a few more coins they might lend their stable again._

"You just sit here on this log and wait for me. No running off, I won't chase you down. You said you want to be free, well you're going to have to do as I say in the meantime. Go sit," he ordered, and handed her the other wineskin. When he made his way towards the cabin, he did not turn to make sure she heeded. _She will wait and not run, she wants her freedom. _Sandor walked to where Stranger was waiting and guided him back to the bird.

As Sandor walked around the corner towards her, he slowed his steps, and watched Sansa as she sat waiting for him. She seemed nervous and was playing with the tassel on the side of one of the wine skins. As he came closer, she stood up to meet him. Sandor let the reins fall to the ground and he reached across the saddle to untie a small bundle of clothes. He stomped in the snow towards Sansa.

"Here, put these on, make sure to remove _all _your clothes. You can keep your boots; don't want your pretty toes to blacken and fall off," he muttered as if he was not happy with the situation. He grabbed his cloak off the log and held it up. "Here, I'll hold this up over my face and you can change behind it," he said quickly. He then noticed the alarmed look in her eyes. "Don't worry, little bird, I give you my word. No peeking," he rasped, amused at the reaction her eyes gave him. Her face, he noticed, was once again flushed.

"You're a brute," Sansa responded, but took the bundle of clothes from him after she set the wineskins down. "Then hold it up. And... you won't look, will you?" She questioned hesitantly.

"No, little bird, I won't take a peek. Just hurry up," he said impatiently.

Sandor held up the cloak and took a deep breath. It was agony knowing she was undressing on the other side, just inches away. _I gave her my word, _he thought regretfully. He could hear her removing garments and then he heard a loud sigh of frustration.

"Quickly, girl," he snarled impatiently, "We don't have all day. Move!"

"I can't," she whispered, "I just…"

Sandor frowned behind the cloak. "What do you mean _you can't_? Girl, just get undressed already!" he snapped.

"I am trying...it's just...I can't undo my laces. My handmaiden, she tightened them so tight that I can't possibly remove them. I have on the breeches, but I can't undo my...I...need help," she said, her voice shaky, defeated.

Sandor snorted and lowered the cloak. His eyes widened at the sight in front of him. There, Sansa stood with her back to him; barefoot and shivering standing on her cloak. She had the breeches on under her shift, that was now bunched up about her waist, but they were too tight, he noticed right away, and he could not help but look at her firm arse. The breeches were also too short for her long, shapely legs and went halfway down her calves. As she struggled to loosen her corset, he could see the top of her back exposed with the sleeve of her shift slipping off of her shoulder. _Fucking gods._

Sansa turned her head in his direction. Her eyes widened in shock and she wrapped her arms around her chest.

"You said you would not look! You gave your word!" she accused him, holding her arms tightly around herself.

Sandor dropped his cloak and stepped forward. His chest was almost touching her back. He noticed tiny bumps covering her skin and the occasional shiver. Looking down at her upturned face, he could not help but sweep a glance over her shoulder and briefly gaze at the mounds that were pushed up from her corset. He swallowed hard. He reached for his dagger and pushed her forward gently, his hand firmly holding her in place with his thumb slightly below the back of her neck, and his fingertips wrapping over her shoulder. He gripped his dagger and quickly sliced through the laces. Then the back of the shift, ignoring Sansa's gasps.

Sandor stood momentarily and gazed at the smooth skin on her back, freckles here and there. He lifted his hand off her shoulder and went to caress the exposed skin, but just as quick he flinched his hand back, curling his fingers back into his palm. He took a step back, sheathed his dagger, and picked up the cloak. He held it up again and looked up toward the sky, gritting his teeth in frustration as he felt himself stiffen. _Fucking fool, of course she's grown. What, you thought she'd still be the child you threatened and left behind? _His mind wandered, though not letting him forget the round firmness. He shook his head to rid his thoughts.

_Have to find her different breeches soon enough._


	5. Chapter 5

Once again thanks to littlebirdhound

All characters belong to GRRM

As Sansa held her corset to her chest, she could not help but feel exposed. She darted her head back and swallowed her relief when she saw that Sandor was holding up his cloak once again. She quickly pulled off her now destroyed corset and shift, letting them fall to the ground, and picked up the worn, brown tunic off the ground, slipped it over her head and smoothed it down her sides. She did not enjoy the feeling of not having support under her clothes, and picked up her cloak to cover herself once again. The brisk cold she felt, was seeping under her skin.

"I am dressed," she said simply, clasping her cloak and fastening the dagger and leather sheath that she had previously discarded. _I must look like an awful sight, _she thought with a frown and tied the leather straps around her waist. She turned just as Sandor slowly lowered his cloak. She looked questioningly at his furrowed expression.

"What? I put on what you gave me," she assured him, "Just as you requested."

"You can't take your cloak with you girl," he rasped, "It has to stay with the rest of your garments. You can wear it 'til we're done here, but we'll have to find another for you. I misjudged what you would need. Not used to picking garments out for a girl and all."

She watched as he laid his cloak over the log once again. _Won't he be cold? _She mused.

She stood still as she watched Sandor take his dagger out once again and began hacking away at her discarded skirts and small clothes. _What is he doing? _She wondered but did not ask him. He picked up her shift and ripped it into two and when he went to pick up her small clothes, she gasped. Her face turned red as he shredded them in half as well. _Gods, he is mad!_

She watched as Sandor threw the small clothes on the ground and picked up one of the wineskins. Sansa frowned at him. _He seems to have some sort of plan, but he is just making a mess of my clothes._

"I don't understand. What is it you're trying to do?" she finally asked.

Sandor turned around and gestured to her ruined garments, "I'm trying to make it look like you're dead. With this stag's blood on your clothes, scattered towards the river, might be it'll stall the search party a while, make them think you were killed and thrown in the river. The current under ice would surely take a person with it and drag it down stream, so I'm going to throw these," he said waving his arm toward the pile on the ground, "into the thawed patches out there."

Sansa looked out to the river, not liking the sound of that.

"I'll drag that hindquarter to the river too," Sandor said as he continued slicing and tearing, "It will make a bloody trail even a fool can't miss. And hopefully they'll take the bait and search far from where we'll be heading."

Sansa watched as he started to pour the blood over the pile of rags, and used his boot smear it. "What if you fall through?" she exclaimed as she watched him. "The ice might not hold you, it's too dangerous to walk on!"

Sandor looked over and grinned, his skin looked stretched on the burnt side. "You care?" he teased with a cocked brow.

_Of course I care, though I am sure you would mock me for it. You saved me once before, long ago, and for that and your cruel words that helped build my armour, yes, I care, _she thought.

"Or might be you just need me to get you home, is that it?" he asked as he advanced closer. Sansa took a step back, but stilled when he gripped her chin in his hand, though not ungently.

Instantly, she was taken back to the first time he gripped her chin and how angry he had been long ago:

_There's a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. I've watched you turning away all the way down the Kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look._

Sansa looked at him carefully now, though this time, she noticed, there was no anger. _His grip is not of iron, but gentle, he does not reek of wine, and his eyes...his eyes are...different now._

"Don't worry about the likes of me, little bird, I'll get you home one way or another," he said with some reassurance in his voice, "and not a scratch will befall you."

Sansa stared up at him, puzzled at his words and actions.

"I don't understand. Why you are doing this for me? I have nothing to give you, I don't even know what will happen once I get home to Winterfell. All I know is that I have no one left in the world. No one. And here you are, trying to reassure me that I will be safe and get home. What is it you gain, Sandor? Since my father was beheaded, I have not known who to trust, putting my life and safety into empty promises. Don't promise me something you can't deliver," she said with a shaky voice.

Sansa could feel a strange emotion building up inside her, she could not grasp what it was, but as she said these words she knew, deep inside, that he wanted nothing from her; that despite his cruel ways and uncouth mouth, he would never hurt her. Deep in her heart, she knew, but with all she had been through she needed to hear from him, again, that he would not hurt or use her to gain something for himself.

Sansa stared up at him waiting for an answer. She looked him straight in the eyes and for a second she thought he might not be able to meet her gaze. He glanced away as he removed his hand from her chin and ran his hand over his face. He shook his head and let out a deep breath, and looked at her.

"Might be I'm doing all this," he gestured between her and the mess on the ground, "because, just maybe, I need to do something right for once. I'm not going to stand here and confess all these feelings to you. Just know that I want nothing in return and that maybe seeing you back home is enough for me. If you remember little bird, I, too, have nothing left. I have no honor, I have nothing but this," he stated simply, patting the sword on his side.

Sansa felt her eyes fill up with tears. No one, except him had ever spoken so plainly with her, and she nodded her head. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly.

"Thank you," was all she could say and then quickly dropped his hand.

"Don't be quick to thank me just yet, we're not finished here, and our journey's just beginning." Sandor retorted with a heavy tone, handing her the wineskin.

He walked over to Stranger and untied a bundle from his saddle, heaving it over his broad shoulder with a grunt. He walked back and climbed over the log once again, throwing the bundle on the ground, and quickly removed the cover exposing the leftover remains of the stag. It looked as though much of it was taken off and there was not much left of its hide, just the occasional patch near the hooves. Sandor grabbed a handful of the stained garments and the hind leg tightly, and started pulling it toward the river. He stopped after several steps, frowning at the lack of blood and reached for his dagger to slit fresh gashes into the meat.

"Throw me a skin, this meat is mostly frozen and it's not leaving enough blood for my taste."

Sansa picked up the wineskin that had not yet been opened, checked to make sure the plug was tightly secure, and threw the skin, feebly missing Sandor by several feet. _Don't even start, _she thought as Sandor shot her a glare and stomped over to retrieve it.

"Might be you need lessons in throwing along with killing, little bird," Sandor muttered to her, "Your septa wasted her time teaching you courteous ways when all along a lesson in daggers and arm strength would have gotten you a lot further." He grabbed the skin and proceeded to cover the meat with blood, and started down towards the river once again.

Sansa watched, almost in amazement, at the ridiculous sight in front of her. _Gods, what goes through his mind, _she wondered. She watched as he pulled the meat behind him, now leaving a clearer trail. _Enough for someone unawares to think that maybe a body was dragged to the river, and strewn garments might make one think I was..._

Sansa did not even want to think the word, and shuddered, remembering the riot in King's Landing. _Thank the gods he found me, else I surely would be dead. Or worse._

Her eyes softened slightly as she watched Sandor work.

_He is such a strange man. He hates knights and nobility and yet, here he is, doing this for me, all because he had a hunch that Littlefinger's bastard daughter was me. I wonder why, though. What will become of Mya and Lothor? Do they know who I am and were they just playing along? Though I do hope that nothing harmful befalls them._

She gazed at him as he threw bits of garments behind him and made his way closer to the river.

_He looks better than I remember him from Kings Landing or my dreams. He was always so angry but now,'_ she thought as she watched him hoist the carcass, _he looks relaxed, and so strong, as though this is something he does everyday._

She watched him struggle across the ice and dump the hindquarters into the thawed hole.

_Be careful, _she almost cried, her hand flying to her chest. She watched as it seemed to disappear under the ice. _If only it was that easy to just disappear, _she thought sadly.

Sansa gasped suddenly. She could hear the loud groan of the ice giving way. She did not know what to do and started to run towards the river. Sandor did not move, but held up his hands to stop her. Sansa did at once. With wild panic in her eyes, she watched as he carefully laid himself down, spreading his large form over the ice. Slowly, he dragged himself over the ice towards the shore. When he was close enough, he quickly stood up, and took a few more steps. He grinned at her, as if to mock her earlier threat of danger.

_Of course I worry for naught, and he just grins at my concern…_

Suddenly, a large cracking sound startled her, and his next step landed him knee deep in the icy, shallow water.

"Fuck!" Sandor cursed, hauling himself out of the water and stumbling to the shore. He glanced back around and surveyed the river momentarily before walking quickly towards Sansa, his leg having a more pronounced limp this time.

Sansa's heart dropped. She saw how soaked he was and knew that the situation could turn dire.

_No, _she thought and went to go meet him, but again, he held up his hand to stop her and she waited until he was beside her. He looked at her, hard, his mouth grim.

_You knew I was right, but, of course, you will never admit, _she thought. Her eyes widened as his large hands came up and grasped her cloak, lingering slightly longer than necessary. He cocked his head at her and ripped the clasp that held her cloak closed, brushing it off her shoulders. Sansa stared up at him with a frown and quickly went to fold her arms across her unbound breasts. She tried to back away when he grabbed her and picked her up quickly with a discomforted grunt. One strong arm under her knees, the other around her upper back, holding her close.

Sansa gasped. "What are you doing?" She yelped as she struggled to get down, kicking her legs. Suddenly, she felt really high up, and she felt his arms tighten around her. He started towards Stranger, stopping near the log to grab his cloak and wineskins. She had no choice but to press closer to his chest and cling tighter to his neck when he let go with one arm and bent down to grab them.

_Oh by the gods, please don't let him feel my breasts against him, _she thought suddenly. He passed the wineskins to her and she clutched them with both hands using her arms to steady herself as he grabbed the roughspun sack that had held the animal meat, and brought his arm tight under her arms. On the other side of the log he stopped and looked down at her. His mouth turned up in a smirk and he flicked his eyes up and down her flushed face.

"Not the true knight you were looking for, little bird, but you're better off with me," he rasped briskly. "Had to carry you. How strange would it be to see two sets of footprints, one being as tiny as yours, walking away from that bloody mess, hmm?"

He hoisted her up sitting her side saddle. Sansa clutched the saddle's pommel tightly. She looked at Sandor fearfully as Stranger started to snort and turn his head in her direction. _This horse is large, fitting for the rider, _she thought nervously. _His eyes are wild just like his masters used to be._

Sandor gently patted Stranger's rump, and quickly grabbed the wineskins from her hand and roughly stuffed them into the bag. He rolled it up into a small bundle and tied it to the back of saddle. Sansa noticed his breeches were now crusted in snow and ice, and she looked down at him worriedly.

"This is not good," she said, a hitch in her voice. "You are going to freeze now that you are wet. I told you not to go on the ice. It was not safe and now look, you are going to freeze," she repeated.

Sansa furrowed her brow as he threw on his cloak and hoisted himself on to Stranger. She felt her face grow warm when he pulled her closer and wrapped his cloak around her frame. She could feel the saddle's pommel digging into the outside of her upper thigh. _This is going to be uncomfortable,_ she thought. Whether she was referring to the arms holding her close or the pommel that was soon to rub a hole through the side of her breeches, she did not know.

"Why don't we take my horse?" she asked as they passed the three horses that lazily watched them.

"Don't need to attract more attention than I already get. Chances are someone would recognize your horse. How would I keep warm, besides?" Sandor asked, bending over so his mouth was close to her ear and she could feel his whiskers brush her cheek, causing her to shiver.

Sansa tried not to blush at his words and turned her head so he could not see the side of her face.

She glanced over at the basket with the leftover food and wine, sitting abandoned, and spotted the blanket. As if he could read her thoughts, he nudged Stranger in that direction and slipped off quickly. He looked inside and quickly handed it to Sansa. Then he shook the snow off the underside of the blanket, rather violently, and mounted again, tucking it over his lap, hoping to keep his legs warm, she supposed.

"Its not going to work. You will have to warm yourself faster," Sansa warned.

Sandor shrugged and reached around her waist to flip the basket open, and retrieved the skin of Arbor gold. He took a long swig and made a disgusted face.

"Sweet wine; the downfall for many great men. Drink too much of this shit and all a man's secrets will be spilled." He tipped his head back and finished the skin off in one gulp.

Sansa tugged on his arm urgently. "You are not from the north, you don't understand the cold. You cannot go with wet clothes. I've seen it before and it is not long before a man is lying dead from shock. You said you want to help me, well, how is your being dead going to help?" She asked frantically, still pulling on his arm. "You must take off your breeches."

She stared puzzled at his sudden grin. _This man! One moment he is growling and snapping at me like he hates me and then next he is grinning. We have only been in each others company for less than an hour, I'm to put my life in his hands, and he grins at this situation._

"You want me to remove my breeches, little bird? What should I wear, hmm? Might be I'll wrap this blanket, here, around my waist and wear it as a pretty skirt." He retorted, laughing at her as he lowered the wineskin and threw it across the snow.

Sansa gritted her teeth. She could feel herself flush again, despite the cool air, and turned away.

"Then go," she hissed, "go, ride away, but you will be thinking of my words when you freeze to death." She glared back up at him. His eyes looked amused though he did not smile.

"You're bold, I'll give you that girl," he rasped quietly.

_You bring it out,_ she thought. _He can listen to me for once. I am not backing down._

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally Sandor looked away towards the cabin and pursed his lips together. "Right," he muttered under his breath, nudging Stranger towards the cabin door. "Not a peep from that little mouth, understand? Hopefully they did not hear us before."

Sansa nodded. _I've won this time, _she wanted to admit to him, but decided against it.

Sandor halted Stranger near the door and swung down. He wordlessly pointed his finger to Sansa and handed her the reins, pulled his cowl over his face, and threw the cabin door open, slamming it behind him. Sansa sat nervously, her legs hanging off Strangers side, she slowly tucked them closer towards the stirrups. _I don't need him biting me, _she thought. She hesitantly patted his neck carefully, ready to pull her hand away quickly. Stranger just snorted loudly and shook his mane. _You like this? You are just like your master, ready to bite but stayed by a gentle touch. _She looked up at the cabin door as she scratched him behind the ears.

_I hope they are all right in there. Sandor said he did not kill them, but still, what will happen to them? _Sansa closed her eyes tightly and clutched the reins in her hand. She said a prayer to the mother, asking her to watch over her friends, but her prayers were instantly interrupted when Sandor emerged. He stepped out and took a quick glance back again. He shut the door behind himself and hoisted, once again, atop Stranger.

Sansa noticed that he had on Ser Lothor's pants. They seemed to fit, though it was hard to tell with his cloak and tall boots. _He must have taken his stockings too, but his pants will be short like mine, _she mused, hiding a slight smile at the thought.

Sansa could not help but break out the smile when he looked down at her and turned Stranger around. "Lets get you out of here, little bird," he said his growling voice in her ear as he pulled her under his cloak and into the warmth of his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey to the small farm that Sandor had discovered on his way to the Gates was over a half a day's ride away and they would not reach the dwelling till late evening. They had remained quiet most of the day, and wanting to put as much distance between them and where they had left Mya and Lothor, the occasional break to make water was all he had allowed. What their future would be once Littlefinger discovered that they had let Sansa slip through their fingers, he could not say, but Sandor hoped that time would be on his side.

The Lord Protector was not set to arrive at the Gates of the Moon for several days, though Sandor was sure that a raven had already been sent. _Hopefully Lothor and his wench are still tied up in that cabin, means no one has found them yet. He's a fool, leaving the Bloody Gates with Sansa, _he thought, glancing down at her sleeping form resting against him. _Though it worked in my favour. _

She had been asleep for a while now, having given up her courtesies of sitting prim and proper. She finally leaned her head against him, resting just below his shoulder. Sansa had been tense at first, he could tell, but as her eyes got harder to keep open, she relaxed and fell into a deep slumber. It might have aggravated his wound but he could not help but hold her close. _I never thought I would see her again, and she slept here in my arms as we rode. Bugger, listen to yourself, dog, you sound like the fucking Knight of Flowers._ He snorted loudly at that thought.

It was dark now and the road to the farm was just within sight. _About time. I need to get this stitched up, _he thought as he silently winced from the now throbbing pain coming from his chest wound. Sansa stirred under the cloak, yawning. She sat up straight and peered out toward the end of the trail, the warm feeling of her against him suddenly gone. "Are we close?" she asked drowsily.

"We'll stay there for the night," Sandor grunted, pointing to the tiny light flickering in the distance. "You'll have to sleep in the barn, but you'll be safe. And the old woman there, she'll lend you a blanket. Seems nice enough. Wanted me to stay with her and the boy. Even gave me those clothes you're wearing. Said she would feed me and let me stay in the barn loft in exchange for work. Told her these hands aren't made for shoveling shit," he said and flexed his fingers.

"Can we trust her?"

"Can't trust anyone except yourself, little bird. Hells, might be some of us can't even do that. But she's got food. Stew, most like. Caught the stag for them before I left and only took what I needed. Food's worth more than gold or a man's word. They were starving, I provided something for them."

"What if she tells Littlefinger who we are?" she asked quickly. "Maybe we should just sleep in the woods."

"Woods? Have to stitch up this war wound you gave me."

"What should we tell her? Surely she might be suspicious or at least question who I am."

"What, a dog like me can't have a pretty little travelling companion?" he rasped quietly. "We could tell her you're my daughter. Think she'll believe that, do you?"

"I suppose it would make sense to have a story in case someone comes looking for me, but who would believe that I am your daughter?" she whispered haughtily.

_My bed warmer then,_ he almost said, a smirk forming on his lips.

"And you're not a dog," she continued, looking up at him, "Please, stop calling yourself that."

Sandor glanced down at her and could see her eyes glittering in the darkness. Suddenly he felt annoyed by all her questions, and tore away from her gaze. "Tell her what you want, girl," he growled, "makes no difference to me. But it's getting colder and I need something warm in my belly. And sleep." Hurriedly, he turned Stranger down the snowy trail and quickened the horses pace.

Once they neared the barn, Sandor dismounted and reached to help Sansa, placing his hands around her waist. She steadied herself, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Her grip was noticeably timid now, but when he placed her down on the ground, her hands slipped down to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly above his tunic before lowering her hands to her side.

_You're still a timid little bird, aren't you? But sometimes you forget yourself. _

Sandor tied Stranger to the post and beckoned Sansa to follow him towards the small hut. He stopped in front of the weathered door and knocked loudly. Sansa stood just behind him, so close that he could almost feel her breath on his back. She was shivering and her breath was a cloud around her. Though he could not read her expression due the blackness that surrounded them, he knew she was nervous.

"It'll be fine, girl. Don't worry," he said, trying to sound reassuring. He turned back to the door when he heard the old woman's voice from the other side.

"Aye, who's there? Get on your way, I've nothing here," she muttered, her voice muffled by the closed door.

"Let me in, old woman." Sandor barked loudly and thumped the door with his fist again to accent his demand.

He heard the bar slip with resistance from its place and the door opened slightly with a groan. He looked down and nodded to her wrinkled face, hiding his smirk when her lips pulled back into a toothless grin. She opened the door fully and waved him in eagerly with her thin, gnarled hand. He reached behind and grabbed Sansa's arm pulling her in with him. She stood right beside him, her arm was touching his and she was shaking from the cold.

Sandor pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, leading her to the bright fire crackling in the hearth. He urged her closer to warm herself. He was chilled too, but not enough to stand too close to the leaping flames.

He turned to the old women. She was watching him carefully as she puffed on her pipe, wafts of smoke lazily circling around her, blending in with the white of her hair that was piled on the top of her head. She sucked back on the stem of the pipe and squinted her eyes at Sansa, appraising her silently before turning her attention to him.

"So, you needed the boy's clothes for this one. Aye, but not a practical disguise at all. She's right ready to burst out of those pants. And no cloak? You won't make it far." she croaked at him, smacking her lips together. "Who is she?"

"Nevermind that, woman. She'll be fine. Might need a cloak from you when we leave though," Sandor said as he glanced back to the fire and the pot that was bubbling away.

"Hmm. Well, no sense in freezing to death, I say. But girl," she said with another puff of smoke, "come here and sit down. A nice warm bowl of stew should fix you right up." The old woman pointed her crooked finger toward the two chairs that looked as old as she. "You two sit down there, and I'll fetch some food for you." she said shuffling to the fire and picking up a poker to lift the hot lid off the pot.

_Bloody well smells like the seven heavens,_ Sandor thought as he watched her. His belly rumbled in agreement to the old woman's words, not having much to eat in the past few days. Sansa walked past him and sat at the table looking too prim and proper again. _You're supposed to be playing the bastard, not a pretty little lady._ He clenched his jaw and walked over to her, giving her a stern look as he sat down beside her, and leaned in close.

"Remember your place, girl. No highborns here, got it?" he whispered. When she turned to him and nodded slowly, he pulled away. _Good girl. Just do as you're bid and we might make it._

Soon, he and Sansa each had steaming bowls of stew in front of them. Though it was a simple, the stag and bits of assorted root vegetables made it hearty meal. And it was hot. Sandor grabbed his spoon and wrapped his large hand around the bowl and ate eagerly. _A nice, thick piece of warm bread and cheese would be perfect. And a skin of wine,_ he thought as he wolfed down his food.

In between spoonfuls he would glance over to Sansa and watch her as he leaned his forearms on the table. She sat with her back straight, her hand held the spoon delicately in her fingers as she brought it up to her mouth without bending her head. Her other hand sat proper on her lap. _Stop eating like a bloody highborn._ He kicked her foot under the table and glared at her when she looked at him, her eyes startled. Sandor nodded to the food, scooped up a bite, and shoved it into his mouth, nodding back at her as he chewed noisily. She turned away and stared at her bowl, swallowing hard, then scooped up a spoonful and tried to do the same.

Sandor shook his head. _It's like she's never seen a bloody peasant eat,_ he thought as he watched soup dribble down her chin and onto the cloak she was still wearing. He watched her look around for something dainty to wipe her face.

"Use your sleeve, girl. This is no bloody high table," he growled under his breath, ignoring the old woman observing the two of them, a small flask in her hand, the pipe hanging from her mouth.

Sansa looked at her sleeve and hesitated for a moment, but nodded and wiped her chin clean. She took another spoonful, this time she shoveled the food in hungrily and when she caught Sandor smirking at her, she just grinned, baring her teeth. _Don't grin at me like that little bird. You get too bold, might be I'll nip at that pretty little mouth of yours._

Sandor was soon distracted by the old woman who had pulled up a low stool beside them. He watched as she took a seat and a long haul on the flask. Her eyes were slightly guarded, but he knew she was trying piece together a story. She set the flask down and crossed an arm about her chest and slowly puffed at the pipe in the other hand, her whiskered chin bobbing up and down.

"The girl," she finally said with a scratchy voice, a cloud of smoke escaping her mouth as she spoke, "she wasn't with you the last time you ate at my table. How is it she's sitting here now?"

"Spare me your questions, old woman." He looked around the room. "Where's the boy?"

"Aye, he's asleep. Been working all day on getting the cart ready so we can go to Gulltown." She took another puff, her cheeks hollowing as she inhaled. "The boy and I have been holed up in this cabin for too long. His father went to fight in the war and never came back. Dead most likely. His mother was taken by the fever. Life's not been easy for the lad," she explained shaking her head. The woman settled her gaze on Sansa and observed her. "Well, that's the nature of things, as they say."

Sandor watched as the woman's eyes darted back and forth between him and Sansa. She gestured her pipe toward him.

"Attacked, were you?" She said nodding to the rip in his tunic.

"Oh, it was terrible," Sansa suddenly piped up. Sandor and the old woman turned their heads abruptly. "Some mountain tribesmen had him surrounded, seven to one!" Sansa said quickly, laying her hand on his arm. "My dear husband fought so bravely."

Sandor arched his eyebrow. _Husband? That's a loud chirp now. _He pursed his lips together into a frown and looked at her pale hand on his arm. _So smooth and clean._

"Your husband, you say?" The old woman said with a smirk. "He said he was not from these parts when he came through here last."

"Oh, he has never been. We were separated in the war. He went to battle and while he was away, I was taken by the Mountain Clans. I thought I would never seen my love again," Sansa said, her voice suddenly high pitched.

Sandor peered down at her as she lifted her eyes to meet his. _Such a pretty little liar; terrible liar. Little bird, close that mouth of yours. _He was about to speak, but was stunned into silence when Sansa removed her hand from his arm and turned toward him, gently ran her fingertips over his scarred cheek.

"Oh, how I missed you, my love. I thought I would never see you again. The Seven led you to me, and now that you've found me, we will never be apart. You have such a strong faith, so much stronger than mine." She slowly let her hand fall, lowered her eyes, and picked up spoon, taking another huge bite.

"We are leaving Westeros, there is too much war," Sansa continued with her mouth full of stew. "My husband has suffered enough and surely if we stay, a man of his size and strength will be needed once again. We will leave and go far away from this place. Right, my darling?" She looked at Sandor and smiled sweetly.

_Seven hells, girl, you're laying it on heavy. Only a bloody fool would not recognize this mummer's farce. Well, two can play this game._

"Aye... the gods," he rasped heavily, holding Sansa's gaze, "They spoke to me in a dream and I listened alright. _'Go to the Bloody Gates, your wife will be there,' _they said." Sandor reached over and quickly pulled Sansa off of her stool and onto his lap. He smirked as she gasped loudly. _You started this chirping. _He grinned at her and held her tightly against him, ignoring the pain from his chest. He buried his face into her hair that was braided to the side. _Bloody hells she smells good. _He felt Sansa squirming on his lap. Suddenly she went still and rigid. _What do you expect me to do? _

"The gods led you to your wife?" the old woman asked incredulously. A burst of laughter filled the room. "Aye, I've heard some good stories in my day, but _she is your wife?_" The woman cackled louder, coughing and wheezing, when she was overcome.

Sandor lifted his head up from Sansa's shoulder and stared hard at her, a frown on his face. _Of course folks would think a man with my face could never have a wife like Sansa._ "Are you quite alright?" he heard Sansa ask the woman. Sandor reluctantly removed his arms around her as she made to stand up in concern.

"Aye, I got this cough that comes on when I laugh too hard. She hacked a bit more and cleared her throat. "Might be the both of you should come up with a better tale. The look on your 'husband's' face gave it all away, my dear girl. He has the look of a starved man, and it weren't my stew he been eyeing, that's for sure.

Sandor just snorted and eyed Sansa as she blushed. _She's like a fucking maid._

"Besides," the woman continued, "why would he have asked to take some of my boy's clothes? Surely the gods would have reminded him of his wife's long legs." She wiped the tears that were rolling down her face with the back of her hand.

Sansa, who was wringing her hands together frantically, shot him a quick look and Sandor just shook his head at her.

"Listen, old woman, we just need a roof over our heads for the night, a cloak for the girl if you have a spare, and a bedroll. I've got a few coins." Sandor rasped quietly, his face turning hard and his jaw tightly clenched. _Don't want to have to tie you up too, old woman. Though I will if I have to. _He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by the old woman. She puffed on her pipe and appeared to be thinking.

Sansa looked at Sandor's hand and her eyes opened wide. She shook her head at him, a pleading look in her eyes. "No, you can't," Sansa cried and she grasped his hand tightly.

"Don't worry, little bird. The old woman is smart. She knows I won't think twice about protecting you."

"Grandmother?" A cracking voice called from above.

Sandor turned around and peered up. _Bloody hells, boy, get back to bed._

The old woman just nodded to the boy. "It's alright, lad. Back to bed now." She looked back at Sandor and puffed on her pipe. "No need for that, ser. Her story means naught to me," she said nodding her head at Sansa. "You gave us food when we were at our worst. I've not forgotten that. I think you're a good man, an honest man, but your story has more holes to mend than my winter stockings," she laughed dryly. "You can sleep in the barn. And girl, you can have whatever contents you need in that trunk."

She pointed to a worn trunk. It had seen better days. The bindings were worn and the latch was broken. "I lost my daughter, all her things are there in that trunk. You'll find some suitable clothes to wear and blankets to keep you warm. She was shorter that you girl, but you'll find something."

The woman quieted then, Sandor noticed, and she seemed to have a sad, faraway look in her eyes. He swallowed hard, reaching to his belt to remove a small pouch of coins, and placed it on the table in front of the old woman, though she hardly seemed to notice.

"Here. For your silence and your kindness. And I'm not a Ser," he muttered crossly. He never knew what to say when someone was kind to him, even after all this time.

The woman shook her head, "No, you take it. Might be you'll need it more than us. She stood up slowly and patted him on the arm, "Go, find your ship, leave this land and find some freedom and happiness with this young girl."

Sandor stared down at her, as she turned to look at Sansa. "Go ahead girl, take what you need. Take some extra things. This man you got here, he looks like he might need some fixing up."

"Thank you," Sansa said kindly.

_Still the ever the courteous little bird, _he thought with a strange sense of pride.

"Have you ever stitched a man back together before?"

Sandor looked over to Sansa.

She shook her head. "No, but I'm sure I can, I'm very practiced in stitching clothes."

The woman smiled her toothless grin. "Good. As long as you know how to thread a needle, that's all you need to know. And how to keep the needle clean." She handed Sandor a small flask.

"What's this brew?" he questioned her.

"Its very strong. Just dip the needle in and it will be safe to use," she explained. "Take a few swigs for yourself before hand. It'll numb the pain."

Sandor looked at the flask, and then at Sansa, who was rummaging through the trunk. She turned as if she felt his stare and flashed him a quick smile.

_My pain is already numb._


	7. Chapter 7

**Once again thanks to littlebirdhound for reading this over and helping me with my errors. **

Sansa stood in the middle of the loft, contemplating. She had dug out a hollow in the back of the straw pile and made a level sleeping area as Sandor had instructed. _We will both sleep here, alone. _She spread Stranger's saddle blanket atop the straw and lay Sandor's bedroll on one side with the bedroll she had been given, just slightly away. _There is not much room, but surely he will lay his sword between us. It is only proper_, she thought, needing to reassure herself.

Sandor had shown her the small loft and hauled up the small bundle of clothing and blankets that the old woman had given her. He hung a lantern from the the low ceiling and muttered that he had to take care of Stranger, and noisily went back down the creaking ladder.

She picked through the several items of clothing for a while, and finding a pair of woolen stockings, Sansa sat on her bed roll, took off her boots, and wiggled her toes. _Thank the gods they are fur lined, else my toes would have froze._ She pulled on the stockings and neatly placed her boots at the foot of her makeshift bed. _I would like to change out of these breeches, they feel so tight and uncomfortable, but where do I change?_ She tiptoed to the edge of the loft and peered over and saw that Sandor was brushing Stranger, the light from a dirty lantern beside him cast a large shadow across the barn.

"I wish to change, please," Sansa called down in a quiet voice, "I will be quick but please, wait below till I am done."

He stopped brushing Stranger and looked up, staring at her intently. She felt her cheeks redden and she quickly turned around and went back to their sleeping area. _Why must he stare at me like that? Gods, my face. So warm._

She reached into the bundle of clothes and pulled out a heavy shift, a pair of long smallclothes, and a brown woolen dress. She looked at the garments and furrowed her brow. _How can I possibly wear these? Have I come so far that I must wear a dead peasant's garments?_ She reversed them and shook her head away at her thoughts. _At least they are clean._

Sansa untied her dagger from her waist, and quickly changed, thankful that everything tied in the front. _I could not ask Sandor to lace me,_ she thought remembering how he had placed his hand on her shoulder and cut through her corset laces. _It's better this way_.

She folded the dress neatly, and wrapped the fur lined cloak the old woman had given her around herself before settling on her bedroll. _He will be up here shortly. Gods, why am I so nervous?_ She remembered the goosebumps that prickled over her arms and shoulders when he grabbed her at the table, when his nose had briefly brushed against her neck. _It was not proper at all. And when he sniffed my hair... Why am I having these feelings?_ It was something she asked herself over and over again, and she felt confused. _He is not a proper man, but I let him near me all the same._

Just then, she heard Sandor's approach as he cleared his throat loudly, and Sansa pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, watching as he lumbered up the ladder and into view. His tunic was a right mess and his cloak was draped haphazardly across his wide shoulders. Looming over the little nook she had prepared, he snorted and dropped the saddlebags between the bedrolls. He then carefully set down a small pot of clean, hot water.

Sansa watched as he rifled through the bags and pulled out a worn brown tunic, placing a needle and the old woman's brew on it, and sat down. _He looks much too large to be sitting here. He fills up the space._ As if he felt the weight of her watching his every move, Sandor looked up and grinned tiredly at her.

"You might want to hide your little eyes, girl," He tentatively reached behind his head. "Need to take this off and clean up this mess you made of me. And a needle going through my flesh might not suit a lady such as yourself," he rasped, pulling the tunic over his head in one fluid motion.

Sansa watched him grimace when the soft material of the makeshift bandages from her shift, caught on the now crusted wound. He used his dagger and cut them away quickly.

Immediately, she turned her head away, not being quite sure if it was the sudden confrontation of his bare chest or the unsightly wound that prompted her. Though, when she felt herself blush again, she had a feeling it was not from the latter.

The sound of him tearing his ruined tunic into scraps returned her gaze back to him once again and she saw that he poured some contents of the flask onto them. He took a quick swig for himself and it made his face contort, his scars looked to wrinkle the side of his face. He let out a heavy breath.

"Seven hells! It's like drinking fire!" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed the flask to Sansa. ""Here, girl. Try some."

Sansa sniffed the contents and shook her head.

"Come on, little bird, no need to be so prim and proper. Might be you have a role to play here as my pretty little wife. You said yourself we've been parted too long. Have a drink to your gods who sent me to you," he said as he began patting at his wound.

"She was asking questions. What did you expect me to say? I told you we should have come up with a story," Sansa replied, annoyed. "And why would I want to taste something so vile?"

Sandor didn't answer, seemingly distracted as he, rather timidly, tried to clean his wound. She sighed loudly and moved toward him. "Give me that," she said holding out her hand. Sandor raised his eyebrow at her, but did not say a word, and handed her the cloth as she handed him back the flask and knelt down beside him.

"Here," she folded the cloth neatly into a square and held it out to him, "put more on here." Sandor took hold of her, his large hand engulfing hers, and in the moment they touched, she felt it again.

This time it was like a sheet of goosebumps covered her from her head to her toes. Suddenly, being this close to him, gave her that strange feeling, and reminded her of the Eyrie when she would wake in the middle of the night, startled, her palms sweaty and her heart thumping madly. It was not a feeling of being scared, she recalled, but a feeling that she would only experience on nights when she dreamed of him_. _She would lie there in the dark afterward, unsettled by the sensation between her legs that she could never seem to ease, no matter how hard she squeezed her thighs together. _The feeling is here, now, with him before me. Why is it I feel this way around him? I used to be frightened of him, of his anger, but now I'm afraid of my own feelings. He would never hurt me, I know, but when I am close to him..._

Sansa swallowed hard. _In my dreams, the things he does to me and the things he says - Is he capable of such things? Am I?_

"Girl," Sandor muttered at her, interrupting her thoughts, "Are you going to sit here all night holding my hand?"

Sansa could feel the heat of her blush, and knowing her face was now a deep red, was thankful for the dim light of the the lantern. She pulled her hand away and tentatively began to dab his wound, trying to ignore his watchful gaze.

As she wiped away the flakes of dried blood, she took the time to quietly observe him. His chest was covered in dark hair and while there were several scars, there was the occasional freckle and she imagined herself drawing a line with her finger to connect them. _Is he easily tickled? _She glanced up through her lashes. _He looks different with a beard. It's rather strange to see a man hairy on one side and scarred on the other. Though he has a look of the North about him._ She bit her lip to avoid the smile that was about to cross her face. _I never knew a man could be so large,_ she thought as she took her time and gently pressed the cloth against his chest. Her eyes wandered across his chest and to his heavy shoulders. As her eyes flicked down his muscled arm she noticed his burned arm. _I wonder what happened here, is this also from his brother or someone else? Truly you are a warrior with all your scars. It would take more than both my hands to wrap around your arm. Oh blessed Maiden, Sansa stop this, _she scolded herself and tore her eyes away and quickly looked up and saw Sandor smirking at her. Sansa cleared her throat and concentrated on her task, trying to ignore the heat on her face and the slight shake in her hands.

When the wound was finally cleaned, she sat back on her knees and watched as Sandor dipped the needle in the brew and attempted to thread it. He tried to focus, his fingers fumbling as he missed the eye hole and snorted his frustrations. Sansa could not help but laugh.

"Here," she said when he looked up and glared at her. "Let me help."

When she quickly threaded it and tied a tiny knot, she handed it back, but had to turn away. _I can't watch him do this._

Aside from Sandor's laboured, frustrated grunts, and the occasional nicker from Stranger, it seemed quiet and peaceful there in that old barn. The straw around them acted as an insulator and Sansa felt warm under her cloak, she took a deep breath of cold air and smiled. _For the first time since Father was killed, I feel safe. It's strange to be here with Sandor. The last time I saw him he was so angry and crying. The Mother truly did look after him._ She began to hum the song from that night.

Looking up towards the roof, she noticed a hole off to the side and she could see the moon brightly shining. _It had always been night when I would meet him. Now here we are once again, and he won't take me back to my cage._ She felt her eyes fill up with tears. _I am free._ She stopped humming and turned to Sandor. He was watching her carefully. His hand still holding the needle, the other holding his wound tightly shut. Sansa could not stop the tears from falling.

"Am I free?"

Sandor stilled. He looked up at her, intently, and nodded slowly.

Sansa stood up quickly. "I can leave here, right now, if I wanted to?" She looked back at Sandor. He nodded again. _He really means it. He is not here, with me, just to trap me._

Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed and sank to her knees in front of him. _Freedom. What do I do with that? What does this mean?_ She placed her hands on her cheeks and wiped away her tears. She inched closer to him, now kneeling between his long legs, and placed her hands on his thighs as she leaned towards him, peering into his now wide open eyes.

"Am I truly free?" she asked again.

"All men are free till they're caught, little bird. That's life. If you want to leave, I'll not stop you. But you won't last a day out there and I aim to keep you safe."

Sansa nodded slowly as she listened.

"Now, I won't keep you caged up," he continued, "You're free in my company, too. But your sword skills are shit," he rasped as he pointed to his wound. "The only thing I ask is that while you're with me, you stay close and do as I say when danger is afoot. I'll you get somewhere safe and when this war is over. You'll never have to fear being caught again. I'll make sure of it." He declared firmly to her.

Sansa looked him in the eye. Suddenly it was not hard to do. _He always speaks plainly to me. Does he feel that he owes it to me, to make some sort of vow to protect me? Truly, he is sorry for that night and maybe he really is atoning for what he did. For all his cruel words. For the dagger to my throat._ She nodded and wiped the remaining tears, and spoke no more of it.

"Well, I better get on with it, little bird," he said quietly, looking back at his meager progress.

"Let me," she offered.

Sandor glanced at her and nodded in agreement and held out the needle.

Sansa looked at the wound and took the needle from his hand. "I didn't know it was you when you threw yourself over me. I was truly frightened and I just wanted to protect myself. You should have said something, called out to me. I could have slit your throat. How could I ever live myself if I killed you," she said in a shaky voice.

Sandor barked out a loud laugh. "_You_ kill _me_? Ah, the little bird did well. Might be you _should_ have slit my throat. What if I was someone else?"

Sansa just shook her head. _I don't want to think about that._

"What do I do? I have embroidered before, but never done something like this."

"Are you sure, girl. Might leave you squeamish."

She drew in a deep breath. "Yes, just tell me what to do."

Sansa grimaced at the first few stitches. She shrieked the first time she poked the needle through his flesh and pulled the thread tight. Stitch by stitch her jaw clenched as she moved slowly across his chest. She knew Sandor was watching her closely, his hands constantly brushing against hers as he held the wound closed. When she was done, she sat back and appraised her work. It was neat and the stitches were as small as she could make them. Sansa felt a slight sense of pride as she gazed upon his chest.

"You did well, little bird. This will be my prettiest scar thus far," Sandor said gruffly clearing his throat.

She looked up at him with a sad smile on her face. "My sister would never believe that I took down the Hound and then stitched him up. If she knew what I did to you she would be proud of me."

Just then she felt the familiar burn of tears stinging her eyes and she went to stand up. _I can't keep letting him see me cry._ Sandor reached out to her arm, stilling her. She looked at him once again. His grey eyes suddenly serious.

"Little bird, I need to tell you some things - things about where I've been and what I've seen."

Sansa studied him. _Why don't I like the sound of this. He looks hesitant. _She settled back down on her knees. Sandor straightened himself, bringing one knee up and stretching out his other leg beside her. Suddenly Sansa realized how improper her location was. She made a move to scramble back, but again, Sandor's hand gently stopped her.

"It's fine girl. I'm not going to bite you. You need to hear me out."

Sansa nodded slowly and settled down between his legs, waiting.

He carefully put on the clean tunic and brushed his hair away from his face. He then looked wearily at her and rested his arm on his knee. _What?_

"Your sister," he started out, "I found her. Before your mother and kingly brother were..."

Sansa gasped. "You found her? Where? Where is she?" Sansa felt a tightness in her chest and she gripped his knee.

"Let me speak, girl. Oh I found her alright. She got mixed up with the Brotherhood without Banners somehow. Dondarrion, and his lot found her before they found me. I wanted to find my brother and kill him before leaving Westeros for good, but that swine herd stole my winnings from your father's tourney. So I stole her." He looked away and shook his head. "They were going to ransom her to your mother, most like. And I was going to do the same."

_Arya would have been safer with Sandor. Maybe he would get cross with her but I know he would try to keep her safe. He would have deserved the ransom, no, a reward. Robb would have done the honourable thing, like father._

Go on, please." she urged, tugging at his hand.

"Heard your uncle was to marry some Frey, so I took your sister to the Twins. Had I known what was to happen..." he shook his head.

"What? Tell me, Sandor?" Sansa urged, tugging at his hand.

"If I knew what was to happen, I'd never have taken her there. Thought I could make some coin, maybe join your brother's service and help find my brother and kill him. It was a fucking bloodbath. I have killed many in my time. It's what I do. Never thought twice. But what they did to your brother...it's something out of Gregor's book," he said, his voice low and angry.

"Did you see my mother before she was killed? My mother…" she whispered, gripping his hand in hers. For several moments, she wept. "I wish I could have seen her one last time. To have her hold me and to tell her that I loved her."

Sandor said nothing, but let her hold his hand as tightly as she could. Sansa looked down at her lap, her tears rolling off her chin. She gazed back up at Sandor. "My sister, where is she?"

"After I took her away from the Twins, I thought to take her to your aunt. Didn't want to take her with me. She's wild. She's too much trouble. "Not like you, you keep your fangs hidden well behind your little courtesies."

"What do you mean 'she's too much trouble'? She's still alive, is she not?" Sansa asked, clasping her hands together. She inhaled a deep, shaky breath, and braced herself.

"She was alive when she left me. I was in a bad way, asked her for mercy. I tried everything, even told her I should have raped you bloody," he rasped. A look of shame came over him and he looked away. "Said I didn't deserve it. She was right."

"Enough. I already forgave you for that night. If I thought you were still a danger, I would have never left with you today."

Sandor looked back up at her, and nodded.

"Did she say where she was going? Was she injured?" Sansa said briskly.

"She mentioned Braavos. Said she had a friend there. She's an angry one. She's seen too much for her age. It changes a person. But last I seen of her she was fine. Angry and seeking revenge, but fine. I have no doubt that she's well."

"She's alive." Sansa whispered. "Gods be good, she's alive, I know it. Is that where you're taking me? To Braavos?" _We have to find her._

Sandor shook his head. "I'm sorry, little bird, not enough coin to buy passage. I have an idea where to take you, but I'm keeping it to myself. I need to keep you safe just now, and the less you know, the better." He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her face.

"Listen, girl," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly, "I'll not sit here and tell you all will be right soon. Might be hard to believe, but I have a sense of what you're going through. I had a mother long ago. A sister, too, and I lost them both. Changed me forever. And what my brother did to my face." He gestured towards the ruin. "Made me who I am. One day I'll tell you some things, little bird, but for now, you just let me take care of things."

Sansa tilted her head and observed him quietly. _You have a story don't you? You were alone, too._ She rose up and scooted closer to him, surprising him when she placed a hand on both sides of his face and stared into his eyes. He tried to push her away.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. She brought her face right up his, she could feel his warm breath, heavy on her face. She could not explain why but she gently pushed his hair away from his forehead, and placed a soft kiss upon his forehead.

She pulled away and smiled tremulously. "Thank you, Sandor, and good night." Sansa stood and walked over to her bedroll to lie down. She pulled her cloak tightly around herself and closed her eyes.

Sansa smiled when she heard a faint raspy whisper, "Good night, little bird...thank _you_."


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the delay. I have been caught up with real life lately. Once again a special thanks to littlebirdhound.**

Sandor woke up around the hour of the wolf. He shivered as the cold set deep into his bones and grimaced slightly from the pain emanating from his chest. The wound itself was not so painful, but he could feel the strain on it when he tried to stretch. There were still some hours before sunrise, but wanting to place as much distance as possible between the Vale and Sansa, he knew they had to get moving. They had several more days of travelling ahead and if they were lucky they would make it to the Quiet Isle with no confrontations.

For several moments he lay still, turning toward Sansa to watch her sleep. Though it was dark he could still make out her form as it would gently rise and fall with each breath. He could not stop thinking of the soft kiss Sansa gave him the night before. _Her lips so lush and soft, so innocent. It was the sweetest touch a girl- no, woman- has ever given me willingly. For a married woman, there is something chaste about her. _He frowned deeply at the last thought and ground his teeth together. _Married. Fucking Imp. _He sat up and clenched his fists. _I should have killed him when I had the chance. There's no way she'd have bedded him willingly. _His mouth twitched when he thought of the Imp's hands groping Sansa. _It'll never happen again, I'll fucking cut off his little cock if he's not already dead._

After quietly getting up and packing his bedroll, he squatted beside Sansa, and gently shook her awake.

"We must go now. You can sleep in the saddle," he said in a loud whisper. "Come on girl, quickly. I need that saddle blanket for Stranger."

Under the glow of the lantern that he held in his hand, he watched her wake. She made the most interesting noises when she sleepily stretched and arched her back towards him, and he could not help but wish it was he that made those sounds come out of her mouth. Soon, Sansa caught herself and he smirked at her wide-eyed expression. "I'll leave you to get ready," he said, and quickly stood and turned around. _Fuck get away from her. Bad enough that she's to be seated in my arms the whole way. The smell of her hair is enough to make me spill like a green boy. _

He heard her shuffling around under her heavy cloak, when finally he felt a light tap on his arm.

"Here is the blanket," Sansa said, sounding tired.

Sandor turned his head and looked down. There, Sansa stood holding her cloak tightly around her shoulders, her hair still in a braid though tenderils escaped. _Girl, what do you do to me? _ Sandor let his eyes roam over her and when she noticed, her face flushed. Feeling uncomfortable, he snatched the saddle blanket from her hand and walked away. "Don't be too long making yourself pretty," he said over his shoulder, trying to ignore the tightening of his laces. _Just give me enough time to fix this._

He quickly scrambled down the ladder, threw Stranger's blanket over the wooden corral, and walked toward the back of the barn. Out of sight, he unlaced his breeches with one hand. _I have no choice, I need to keep my wits about me. _It was not long before he had himself in hand, stroking quickly and silently. _Not going to let my cock lead the way. Best get this over with. _

Moments and images of Sansa in the last few days flooded his mind - her arched back as she roused and mewed, her blush as though she's never been with a man_, _the feel of her under him when she struggled to escape, the tops of her teats when he peered over her shoulder, the supple skin of her back that he didn't touch but easily could have. _It would've been the softest thing my fingertips ever felt_. He bit the side of his cheek to keep silent as he spent in his hand, not caring if he drew blood. Hunched over, he braced himself on the wall with one hand, trying to hold back the shudders that overtook his body. He closed his eyes tightly, panting, trying to shake the feeling of shame for thinking of her in this manner. He cleaned himself with a rag from his pocket and then threw it on the ground, kicking some dirt and straw over it without a thought. He then laced himself up, pulled his cloak tightly around himself, and went to saddle Stranger.

The moon was still bright in the sky, and with supplies secured and hoods pulled over their heads, the trio set out from the barn and into the early morning darkness. The snow was still deep and Stranger would occasionally pull at the reins in protest as they followed the path they had made the previous evening to the High Road. Sansa, with her arm circled around back under Sandor's cloak to keep her hands warm, rested her head gently upon his chest. Every once in a while when she would get jostled around by Stranger, Sansa would grip Sandor's tunic tightly and he would instinctively hold her tighter in return. Realizing what he was doing, he would loosen his grip on her. _Just a few more nights, little bird, and you can sleep on a cot. _

They continued to ride in silence, and by mid morning Sandor started to notice Sansa getting restless, fidgeting the longer they rode. At first she would shift here and there, and then she was sitting straight up, her legs crossed, a slight grimace across her face. Finally, Sandor yanked back the reins that forced Stranger to an abrupt halt.

"What's the matter, little bird?" He asked with a hint of annoyance. "Trying to fly away already?"

Sansa turned her face up to him and then looked away. "It's just that..." she whispered, clearly embarrassed, "I need to…" She turned her face away meekly and wrung her hands in her lap, he noticed that she tightened her legs together.

Sandor snorted then. _We've been in the saddle awhile. Such a lady, embarrassed to say it. _

"Piss?"

Sansa's cheeks reddened.

Sandor barked out a laugh. "No need to be so meek around me. Might be a good time to stop, anyway. Here, I'll take you over to the trees and you won't have plow a trail."

Sansa looked towards the trees and back at Sandor, her jaw clenched.

"Don't worry, girl." He chuckled. "We won't watch."

Suddenly, Stranger's ears twitched and in that moment Sandor instantly fell silent. Sandor went rigid and tightened the reins. It had been too long since they had passed anyone. _They will be looking for her. Might be them coming now. _Though he was unsure who in fact it could be, he was not going to take any chances. He gripped Sansa arm and leaned low to her ear.

"Someone's coming. Get down and hide behind the trees. Not a chirp."

He quickly swung himself down, guiding Sansa down with him, and motioned her to hide against the trunk of a large tree. He noticed instantly the terrified look in Sansa's eyes . _Stay still._ He put his finger to his lips and then pulled Stranger further into the woods with him. Carefully, he flung the reins over a low branch and murmured softly into Stranger's ear to stay, his ears flicking every now and then. He then pulled his sword out of the sheath, and treaded carefully back to Sansa, crouching behind her.

_Riders_. Sandor could just barely hear them in the distance and they seemed to be making haste. _Hopefully they'll be in too much of a hurry to see the tracks coming off the road, else there will be sweet death for them all._

He was distracted from his thoughts when Sansa suddenly turned toward him and pulled him down over her. The abrupt movement caught him off guard, and they both fell in the snow, Sandor trying to brace himself above her. She buried her face into his chest and reached her hands under his cloak, gripping the back of his tunic tightly.

_What the hells..._ Sandor could feel her trembling beneath him. He was too heavy for her, he knew, so resting his weight on one hand, that was now deep in the snow, and clutching his sword tightly with other, he tried to lift himself off, but Sansa pulled him down again, the awkward position making him collapse on her once more.

_Fuck, she's terrified_. He raised his head up and looked down at her. Sansa peered up and and pulled his cloak tighter around herself. _It's like shes trying to hide under me_. He looked into her eyes that were filled with unshed tears, her lip was quivering, but he knew that she was trying not to cry. A feeling of protection towards her was nothing new, it had been always there, but now it was intensified with the realization that she could be taken from him. He pulled himself up, wrapped his free hand around her waist, and in one swift motion, threw himself against the trunk of the tree. Resting against it and trying to ignore the pain of his wound, Sandor pulled Sansa up on to his lap and wrapped her underneath his cloak. He noticed she was tense for a split second, and when she turned her face into the crook of his neck, he could feel the warmth of her tears on his skin. Sansa clutched the front of his tunic, as a child would to their mother, and Sandor could feel her trembling against him with silent sobs. _What could they have done to her that would make her so afraid?_

He heard the approaching horses trotting through the snow, each drop of their hooves getting louder, crunching against the beaten path as they approached, but Sandor continued to hold her. Without thinking, he started to rub her back gently to soothe her.

He listened carefully as the crunch of snow receded, and breathed a sigh of relief. _Missed that one, but could be more down the road. Best get moving as far away as possible._

He quickly looked down at Sansa to reassure her, only to see her already gazing up into his eyes, and in that moment it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist to him. Sansa let go of his tunic and slowly moved her hand up to touch his face. Her lips parted slightly and Sandor could not help but linger on them before glancing back to her eyes - deep blue and glistening. He felt himself drifting toward her, an invisible force he could not resist. He felt Sansa's hand trail down his cheek and down to his chest. _No one will ever take you away from me._ Suddenly, Sandor jerked his head back, grimacing from the sharp, unexpected pain.

"I'm sorry...I...forgot, your wound," Sansa stammered as her hand jerked back, like she suddenly realized she was sitting on his lap.

Sandor sighed, shaking his head. "It'll be fine, little bird," he said quietly in a gruff tone as he gently pushed her to the side. He knew the moment was gone. "No point in crying."

Sandor got up and pulled Sansa onto her feet, wiping her face and dusting off her cloak.

"Go and do your business," he said almost awkwardly as he brushed the snow off of himself as best he could. "I'll do the same and we'll be off."

Sansa looked away in embarrassment.

"Don't worry, girl. I'll not peek, like I said." He then walked away and tended to Stranger.

The rest of the day continued on without interruption. A few travellers crossed their path along the way, but Sansa kept her head down and her hood up, and they passed by without any questions. With the sun slowly descending, Sandor knew they had to stop and find shelter for the night. He pulled Stranger to a halt and glanced around.

"We'll have to sleep in the woods tonight, girl."

Sansa looked up at him, puzzled. "It's not safe to sleep out here."

"I know you're not used to this but we've no choice on the matter."

"But there could be wolves or thieves!" She whined, clutching her cloak tighter, "And it's already getting colder."

Sandor snorted and patted his sword. "That's what this is for," he said almost bragging. "Wolf or man, they won't be coming near you and you'll be warm enough."

He urged Stranger into the thick of the woods, and drudging through the snow, cut a path until they came to a large, felled tree that was resting on another tree which was laying on the ground. He hopped off Stranger with a grunt, and when he helped Sansa down, his hands almost seemed not to want to let go.

Sandor cleared his throat. "Right." He muttered, and walked away, beckoning Sansa to follow.

He began clearing snow out from under the tree with his hands. "Come on, my lady," he said with a slight mocking tone, "You need to help out, earn your keep." Sansa nodded, slowly came forward, and knelt down beside him, scooping away the snow from under the tree. Before long they had made enough room and packed the snow into a wall around them so that they could at least lie down and be protected from the wind.

"Here," he said, retrieving the furs the old hag gave them, and tossing them beside Sansa. "Spread one of these out on the ground. The others will cover _us_ as we sleep. He nodded his head towards the path. "I'll tie Stranger under those trees there. He'll be our watch tonight. Nothing will get past his ears."

He gave Stranger an affectionate pat on the nose and a quick brush down."Try and keep watch," he said softly before leading him away.

Coming back with the saddle bags, Sandor made his way beneath the tree and cursed loudly when he hit his head on the underside. Sansa giggled, but quickly stopped herself when she she noticed his glare.

He reached over for the bag. "Enjoyed that, did you?" He said as he pulled out a sack of food and a small flint to light the lantern.

She smiled and blush swept across her face.

Sandor sat and passed her a chunk of black bread and some crudely sliced cheese, which she quietly ate. He reached in the bag once more for his wineskin and took a long pull before holding it out to Sansa. She paused for a moment, and without a word, took it and sipped carefully. Sandor lazily observed her as she drank, her lips reddening from the wine. _Bugger the bread, I could just eat that mouth of hers. _She handed the wineskin back to him, and Sandor took another deep drink, slowly this time. _Her sweet lips touched this. _He then reluctantly lowered the wine skin, silently cursed himself for being a fool, and quickly ate his bread and cheese.

The night continued on and Sandor tended to his wounds. To avoid exposure to the cold, he tried to shrug out of his tunic under his heavy cloak, but after a few frustrating moments he gave up, unfastened the cloak, and quickly pulled off his tunic before draping the cloak back around himself. With his dagger he made short work of his bandages, and looked over the healing wound, gently touching it. _The little bird did a fine job with her stitching._ _I'll leave the bandages off tonight, some air will do it well. _He pulled his tunic back on, readjusted his cloak, and glanced over at Sansa who had been observing him quietly all the while.

"Something on your mind, girl?" He muttered as he picked up the wineskin and took another drink. He watched in amusement as she fiddled with the ends of her hair and nervously licked her lips. _Soon they'll be raw and bleeding if she keeps that up. _

"I...I just want to tell you that I am grateful that you brought me to safety, but I just can't help but wonder of the fate of Ser Lothor and Mya. It's so cold. We were lucky to have shelter last evening and this here with furs," she said quietly. "If no one has found them, they could be dead. If Petyr finds them, they could be dead. Dead because of me." Sansa placed her face in the palms of her hand, her shoulders shook.

Sandor cleared his throat. _She has the right of it. I should have just done them in, left them for the wolves._ "Listen carefully, Sansa. I'm the one who left them in the cabin. Whatever happens to them is on me, not you. Truth be told, I should have killed the both of them." He grabbed the wineskin and took another sip. "The woman seemed to have a spine, might be they got out, left. That Brune was a fool, though. He should have never taken you out." He glanced over to her just as she wiped a tear away from her eyes.

"Don't you worry, we will be safe soon enough. Just a couple more days in the saddle and then you can rest easy for a bit while I come up with a ship to take us out of Westeros."

Sansa looked at him questioningly. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere safe. A small sept. I've been there for awhile now. Your gods seemed to want to punish me and sent me there. Not a bad place. They have good food, drink, no constant chirping," he rasped, trying to suppress a grin as he furrowed his brow at her.

Sansa smiled slightly. "Well, I am grateful. I did pray to the Mother many times for you, to keep you safe and ease your pain."

"Ease my pain?" He muttered. "The only cure for pain is wine, and lots of it. But they kept it from me, only giving me watered-down swill to quench my thirst." Sandor put the wineskin and food in the saddle bag and placed it to the side.

"The pain will always be there, girl, just like yours. Might be able hide it for a bit, but it'll come back." _Always does._ "Anyway, that's where we're going. But now, best we get some rest."

Sandor then grabbed the lantern and blew it out. He settled on his back and pulled the furs over himself. Sansa shuffled around beside him. _Well girl how long is it going to take before your nesting next to me. _He smiled in the dark when she finally settled beside him, pulling the furs tightly.

**To HMSharp: thank you for reading and your nice comment. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Once again a special thanks to littlebirdhound for helping me out. **

Sansa lay quietly, listening to the deep breathing of the man beside her. She could feel the rise and fall of each breath. It felt strange to be so close to a man who was not her lord husband.

_Husband..._

She suppressed a sigh. She was a woman married; married while betrothed to yet another. _It's so complicated. _She shivered and pulled the furs closer to herself, and shifted onto her side, facing Sandor. She studied his figure in the dark, though she could not see him, for some odd reason, it made it easier for her to face him. She tucked her hands under her head and gazed ahead into the dark, studying his form. _I should feel afraid to be out here in the wild, but I don't. He is in front of the only way in, protecting me. _It stirred something inside of her, reminding her of when she was back in the Eyrie, when she would dream of him. _Would he be like he is in my dreams? So intimidating, yet gentle as well? I was sure he was going to kiss me again today. If he had, would it have been cruel as before or maybe gentler? I would prefer a gentle kiss next time, though he might not know how to give them gently. _Sansa blushed at her thoughts and covered her smile with a hand. She then tucked her head deeper into the furs and finally fell asleep.

Later in the night, the sound of a hooting owl stirred Sansa from her slumber. She nestled herself deeper, seeking more of the warmth next to her. She felt, rather than heard, the deep breathing coming from Sandor. Suddenly she froze, realizing she was tucked up next to Sandor. He was lying on his back, while her face nuzzled against the side of his chest. The top of her head was buried into his armpit, and one arm curled into her chest while the other lay across his waist. And her legs... _Gods, what would mother think? _She realized her leg was straddled over his thigh.

Sandor wrapped his arm tightly around her, and Sansa could feel his warm breath coming towards her face. She tried to wriggle away but stilled when Sandor grunted and pulled her closer.

"Go back to sleep, little bird. Relax, I'll not touch you," he grumbled sleepily as he turned on his side towards her. "Though your flittering around in your sleep, mumbling my name, tempts me."

Sansa squeaked when he pulled her closer and her heart thumped as they shared the warmth and closeness that their small space provided. She felt tense till she felt him nudge her and mutter again for her to relax. After a while, her eyes grew heavy, and she fell back asleep.

She was alone when she awoke, the spot beside her still warm. After quickly getting up straightening herself out, she rolled up the furs, tied the leather cords around them to secure them, and placed them at the entrance before climbing out into the bright morning. Sandor, she saw, was readying Stranger, and he nodded his acknowledgment to her as he kept busy.

Sansa looked around and walked into the trees behind the shelter, making sure not to go too far, but enough so he would not see or hear her. She blushed. It was so unlady like to trudge into the forest and for all to see what she was doing. _I feel like a wildling and I am sure I look like one too. _Although she was grateful to Sandor, she hoped there was a bath where they were heading to next, and wondered if he thought less of her beauty while she looked like this. She chided herself straight away. _I should not be complaining. Sandor is not like that. He only cares for my safety. _She finished up and adjusted her skirts, rubbed handfuls of snow in her hands to clean them the best she could, and made her way back to the camp where Sandor awaited, ready to go.

His eyes studied her, and she felt her face grow hot, hoping he was convinced that the cold air was the reason. _Oh please Mother, blessed Mother, please don't let him say anything about last evening. _

"Up you go, little bird," Sandor rasped as he gently picked her up by the waist and settled her, side-saddle, before he pulled himself up. "Two more days and we'll be there."

The day passed, uneventful, as did the next. Their nights were spent as the ones before; in the woods and huddled close to each other for warmth. On breaks, they shared a heel of bread and some cheese, even a wrinkled, half-frozen apple. They talked here and there when Sansa got the nerve up to ask him questions about the Quiet Isle and the septons that lived there, but nothing was said about the nights and how she always ended up in his arms.

On the fourth morning, Sandor informed her that by the evening, she would have four walls around her, a cot to sleep in, and a fire to warm her. Her face beamed, thinking it was the best news she had heard in a long time. Still, she feared being found, and more than that, she feared what could happen to Sandor. She had tried to express that fear and he just scoffed it off and padded his sword on his side.

There was snow all around them but it was colder as they the left the mountains behind them and got closer to the sea, taking a detour away from the Saltpans, and giving it a wide berth. Sansa asked why.

"Supposedly, the Hound was there," he retorted bitterly. "They say he murdered twelve men and raped a young girl." Sandor spat to the side. "Funny thing is, I was in no shape to even hold a sword, I barely got Stranger to the isle."

Sansa turned her head to look at him. "No, I know you would never do that. Truth be known, you _can_ be very frightening... but to _rape_ a girl? It was not you. I would never believe that," she said matter-of-factly. _He could have done the same to me, but he did not and would not. This I know. _"I will give testament to your character, Sandor, if needs be. I know you-"

Sansa was suddenly interrupted when solid fingers gripped her chin.

"You think you know me, little bird? The fact of the matter is you don't. I've killed more than my share of innocents."

His eyes narrowed and he loosened his grip.

"Though you have the right of it," he continued. "I'm no rapist. I'm not like my brother was." He then lowered his hand, flexing it, and settled into a brooding state.

Sansa did not push the subject further, knowing his thoughts were troubled. _It's not fair, not right, to have that crime over his head. I will defend him when I can. When we get to Winterfell, the people will know the truth, from me. This time I will be the one protecting him. _She smiled determinedly, took a deep breath, and leaned her head against his chest.

The sun was low on the horizon when they reached what Sandor called, 'The Path of Faith.' The tide was out and a vast expanse of mud was ahead of them. The land around them was covered in snow and in the distance Sansa could see the small island.

Sandor brought Stranger to a stop and heaved himself off. Sansa leaned towards him and he plucked her off easily.

"We'll stop for a moment," he explained as he stretched his arms over his head. Sansa stared at him. _Gods, he's huge! _"You should stretch your legs a bit too, girl. It's a tricky path if you veer off so I'll lead Stranger through and you can have the saddle to yourself this time."

She nodded and walked towards the shoreline, staring out at the small isle. It looked so peaceful and safe. She suddenly felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Are you a wicked girl?" He asked, grinning down at her. "Story goes that if your wicked you'll get swallowed whole by quicksand or drown when the tide comes in."

She looked up into his eyes.

"No, you're a good little girl, aren't you? You'll make it across." He let go of her shoulder and flicked his eyes down to where he had touched her. "If a drunk, half-dead dog made it there, you have no worries. Come on girl, before it gets dark." He turned and walked back to Stranger.

Sansa felt a strange feeling in her stomach. She glanced back towards the Isle once more before following him.

Sandor waited patiently as she walked up. As he sat her sideways in the saddle, Sansa was overcome with a strong feeling of affection. Tentatively, she reached out her hand to the burnt side of his face, pausing him. She gazed down at his eyes, so intensely sharp as he focused on her. Sansa swallowed hard and whispered, "Thank you so much. For everything. I will never forget what you have done for me, for my sister. Ever. I don't know how to ever repay you, but one day, I swear it, I will."

Sandor gently grasped her hand on his cheek and brought it to his lips, so quick that Sansa did not know for sure if his lips touched her hand before he dropped it. He gave her a peculiar look before he turned around and roughly grabbed Stranger's reigns.

"It's not you that needs to be thankful." She heard him mutter under his breath as he started towards the mud. _Why would he be thankful? I've done nothing._

The path was more like a lack of a path. It had no discernible steps or anything that marked whether a step was considered safe or unsafe. They started in the east, then went south away from the Isle, they wandered toward it again, then back towards the mainland. Sansa noticed that Sandor, and Stranger too, knew exactly the right places to step, as if they had travelled this path many times. _Thank the Gods he knows where he is going. Surely I would be dead by now._

The sunlight faded quickly. Soon they came up to the shore of the isle and Sandor led them to a small stable where there were three horses being brushed down by a hooded man wearing a large cloak. The man looked up when he noticed them arriving, quickly nodding at Sandor, but giving Stranger a weary eye. Sandor stopped in front of the furthest pen and lifted Sansa down.

"This will only take a moment, little bird. Then we'll see the Elder Brother and get some warm food."

She wondered what this Elder Brother would be like. _Surely, he is a great man if Sandor feels I would be safe here. _

"There'll be warm honeyed milk for you and as much stew as you care to eat. Never a shortage here." Sandor looked up and down at her tired form. "You could stand a good meal," he said with a slight smile.

Sansa huffed, and smiled timidly, patting down her hair and straightening her skirts as best she could. _I knew it! I look a fright! I do hope there is bath here but I imagine there is not. At the very least a cloth and hot kettle of water will do. _

While she waited, Sansa looked around at the landscape. It seemed so beautiful and peaceful there, as if war had never existed just over the water. A few hooded men passed her, their heads bowed as if they were in silent prayer. Her eyes travelled over the now leafless fruit trees and paused as she noticed a small lichyard in the distance. _I wonder what Sandor did here. The gods were good to bring him here. _She could sense a change in him, though he tried to hide it at times with his scowls and terrible words.

She turned back around and watched as Sandor removed Stranger's saddle and blanket. Gently, he ran his hand down the length of Stranger's snout, and the horse nudged his nose under Sandor's chin, forcing him to look up. He looked relaxed, and Sansa knew he truly loved his horse. _He _is _a good horse. He was so strong bringing us both here. If I find an apple I will bring it to him._

"Alright, little bird, lets go see the Elder Brother. He'll be happy to know you're here safe and sound." He beckoned her to follow as he headed up a wooden staircase that meandered up along a hill. They climbed many steps, and Sansa felt as though her chest was like to burst from the long climb. The hill was steeper than she had realized. Her breathing was laboured and she started to feel hot, and she rued the heavy wool dress. Sandor chuckled and offered her his hand. "Almost there. Not used to this, are you?" He teased.

Sansa looked up at him as she stopped to catch her breath. _He is not even breathing hard and he is twice my size, and he has a limp, how can that be? _She shook her head at him and kept climbing towards him, forcing him to keep going as she reached the step below him. Soon they were standing in front of a old wooden door, in the side of the hill. The grey door was surrounded by a warm inviting light that peeked out around the frame.

Sandor knocked twice and opened the door. Sansa was right on his heels, her breathing quick and she crashed into his back as he suddenly stopped.

"What the bloody hells is he doing here?"

Sansa's heart stopped and a cold sweat broke across her body when she peeked from behind Sandor's large frame. He snarled as his sword hissed sharply when he unsheathed it with one hand and with the other, pushed Sansa back behind him as if to hide her.


End file.
